More Than A Feeling
by Sassenach082
Summary: AU-Prequel to Miles Apart. Dean is the son of one of the most famous hunters in the world, hardened by the death of his mom. Paige is the daughter of a long line of hunters stretching back centuries. By chance, they are thrown together. An origin story.
1. First Encounter

**A/N: **Hey, y'all. So I just finished _Miles Apart _– finally – and realized I've been getting lotsa questions about how Dean and Paige met, how they fell in love, and the back story to the relationships and characters already established in _MA_. So, I decided to write this on the side while trying to figure out what the heck I'm doing for _Fight The Good Fight_. (Speaking of FTGF, I'm halfway done with the chatper as of now... it will be posted at the lasted on Saturday. I hate editing...anybody know a good Beta?)

So, in conclusion, this is a prequel to _Miles Apart_.

Some parts of it are dark and a little scary. There will probably be cussing – inevitable, with Noah in the room – and some gruesome scenes, I'm sure. There will also probably be mentions of violence and sex, however, with little to no detail. You have been warned. Also extending CUTE CHILD ALERT. Many of the now-grown characters you know are cute as wee little things. :)

**Disclaimer**: I don't own a thing… oh wait. Yes I do. I own ALL OF IT, except for Dean and the rest of the Winchester's, of course. And Kripke's sorta storyline, whenever it happens to crop up in this story... not often, but I'd rather not get sued, so...

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><p><strong>More than a Feeling:<br>**The story of Dean & Paige

**Chapter One  
><strong>First Encounter

**Malibu, California**  
>June 25, 1985<p>

John Winchester rubbed his face, noticing for the first time how stubbled his chin had gotten. Damn, he needed a shave. Again. He glanced from the Impala to the hospital, torn. Should he leave his sons in the car while he visited the Newberns, or should he take his boys with him?

He recognized defeat when he glimpsed the unreadable eyes of his six-year-old son Dean peering at him out the window. Sammy was awake in his car seat beside the boy, being occupied by his older brother. Ever since the death of his wife almost three years ago, Dean had barely spoken to anyone, least of all him. He would talk to Sammy and to Bobby Singer, and that was it. He was mute with everyone else. Dean was unnaturally attached to that three-year-old little boy.

The whole reason behind him being in Malibu (it was freakin' Malibu – rich people galore) was an ex-hunter buddy, Brad Newbern. He'd retired after the birth of his first child, a boy the same age as Dean. He'd had a daughter two years later. His wife had been pregnant with twins until a little while ago, but that wasn't why he was here. Brad had been gone and he'd gotten a call from a hysterical Wendie (Brad's wife) saying that she was being attacked by something invisible. So, he'd hauled ass from South Dakota to California and broken just about every damn speed limit between here and there to get here in just under sixteen hours.

He'd found parts of the house in shambles and discovered it was a poltergeist. His sons had stayed in the car while he fought it, and after three hours, killed it. But not before Wendie had gone into premature labor with the twins and Brad just about had a damn heart attack when he arrived on scene to find his wife in labor, his son with a broken arm, and his baby daughter in critical condition, having been slashed twice on the chest and once on the back by the damn thing.

Paige, his just-turned-four-year old daughter (her birthday was the eighteenth), was recovering at the hospital. The hunt had been four days ago, and in those days, the stubborn and tough little thing had pulled through a surgery and over fifty stitches and come out of critical condition. On the 21st Wendie had given birth to the twins two months early, and the boy, Garrett Keith, had died. The girl, Claire Jillian, was in the NICU and would remain there for months, most likely.

Finally deciding to take the boys with him, he opened the car door and waited for Dean to hop down. He watched Dean turned around to unbuckle Sammy himself and lift the two-year-old out of the vehicle, keeping a secure hold on him at all times. Sammy clung to him, peeking up at his father from underneath his mop of dark hair.

"Dean, put him down," he ordered, reaching down to pick up the baby with one hand, lifting him to his hip. Dean sent him a scorching glare but paced along quietly beside him, as usual not saying anything.

The nurses in the elevator gushed over his "adorable" children, to which he simply smiled, nodded, and thanked them. He stopped by the fourth floor first, the Pediatric wing, where Brad had said Paige was staying. Sure enough, as soon as he stepped off the elevator, he spotted his friend's towering six-foot-six fame striding towards him down the hallway.

"John," Brad said by way of introduction, reaching out to shake his hand. "I cannot thank you enough for what you did for my family." He smiled, his hazel eyes fogged with worry and exhaustion. He ran a hair through his dark military-style buzzed hair.

"It was nothing you wouldn't have done for me," John retorted, uncomfortable with the thanks.

"And isn't that the truth," he replied tiredly. He crouched down in front of Dean. "Hey, buddy. What's your name?" he said gently, smiling encouragement at the mute little boy. Dean just smiled shyly and scuffed the toe of his tennis shoes on the linoleum.

"That's Dean. He doesn't talk."

Brad reached out and gently ruffled the boy's dark blonde hair. "It's okay, bud, you don't have to talk. I'm Brad."

Dean nodded but still remained silent.

Brad led the way to his daughter's hospital room, entering without pause. He sat heavily in the chair at her bedside. "Hey, sweetheart," he said cheerfully, bending down to kiss the top of her blonde head.

"Daddy," Paige replied, her blue eyes lighting up. "How much longer do I hafta stay here?"

"Until the doctor says you can go, sweetheart," he replied, resting his hand on the top of her head and stroking his thumb across his daughter's soft forehead.

"Where's mommy?"

"Mommy's with Chris and baby Claire, honey."

Dean's eyes watched the scene with a hint of envy, wishing that his daddy treated him like that.

"Brad, can I talk to you for a second?" John said, feeling guilty for breaking up the moment.

Paige's big blue eyes filled with tears as her father stood and followed John into the hallway.

"Listen," John said, shifting Sammy to his other hip and looking at the floor in guilt. "I'm sorry, man. I thought I could get there fast enough. I'm so sorry about your son. I can't even imagine what you must be feeling right now."

Brad smiled, keeping up his brave face. "It's okay, John," he said, clearing his throat. "I'm just grateful that I have one of them. I'll never forget my son, but it was God's will."

John forced himself not to scoff. God… ha, that was a joke. God had left his life the moment Mary was taken from him. The thought of his wife immediately sent him into a dark mood, so he shoved her memory away.

He instead turned to look into the room, and what he saw astounded him.

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><p>Dean stood awkwardly as soon as his dad left him alone in the room with the blonde girl on the hospital bed. The room itself was nice, he supposed. The walls were a cheerful yellow, painted with images of animals of all kinds, with a giraffe and Noah's ark over the right bed. The left bed was empty. There was a dark yellow comforter on the occupied bed, stitched with flowers and more images of animals. The pillowcases were even colored, a light blue, with clouds. On the bedside table were many cards, the biggest drawn with childish images and reading, "Love you Sissy, Love Chris". The room itself was comfortable enough, almost to the point where he forgot he was standing in a hospital.<p>

Putting off looking at the girl had come to an end – he'd surveyed everything in the room, already. So he turned his gaze to hers, not sure what the heck he was supposed to do. She was about two years younger than him, laying back propped against the cloud pillows so she was in a mostly-sitting position.

He stared at her and she stared back, bright blue eyes rivaling bright green. He felt a strange urge to go sit next to her and do something to make her feel better.

"Who're you?" she demanded, one delicate blonde eyebrow rising. He thought she looked just like her daddy, the super tall one outside, when she did that.

He trotted across the room and pushed the chair closer to her bead, pulling himself up onto it and tucking his legs into crisscross apple sauce, resting his chin on his hands. "I'm Dean," he said quietly.

"I'm Paige," she replied, scooting closer to the end of the bed. "Is your daddy John?"

Dean nodded, his green eyes serious.

"He saved me," she said solemnly, blue eyes grave.

"I know." His own eyes were just as grave.

"My brother died, though."

"I'm sorry," he replied. The mere thought of losing Sammy was something he didn't even want to think about. He dug around in his pocket until he pulled out a folded piece of white paper. He held it out to her, smiling shyly.

Paige accepted it, her bright blue eyes curious. It was a card. She stared at it for a long moment, frowning at the neat letters. _G-e-t w-e-l-l s-o-o-n _she slowly sounded out in her head. She flipped it open, and slowly sounded out _Love Dean and baby Sammy. _And then a smile broke out on her face. "Danke," she said brightly, setting it on her bedside table.

Dean cocked his head to the side, green eyes curious. He recognized it as German (Bobby sometimes babbled it when he was reading his funny books), but he didn't know what it meant. "What's that mean?"

"Thank you," she replied, still smiling. "It's German. That's all my grandpa speaks to me in."

"Cool," he said, resting his chin on his hands again. "So… how come you have to stay here?"

"A poltigost attacked me and my brother and my mommy," she replied, her lip wobbling. "I got slashed with a knife. It killed my baby brother and almost killed my mommy."

"Oh," he whispered, looking down at his chair. "My mommy got killed by a demon."

"I'm sorry," Paige said earnestly. "But at least you have a daddy. And your baby brother."

"Yeah." He suddenly smiled at her.

"So how come your voice sounds so funny?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's scratchy," Paige pointed out. She cocked her head to the side to regard him with a thoughtful expression, lips puckered in thought. "Are you sick?"

Dean raised his eyebrows, not wanting to admit that he didn't like talking. He just liked talking to this girl – partly because he knew he wasn't going to see her ever again, probably, and partly because she was really nice and had a pretty smile. "You talk funny, too. You use big words."

Paige beamed. "I read a lot," she confessed. "My daddy always says I have a complex vocabulary for my age."

He nodded. "My… Bobby lets me read a lot."

Her blue eyes lit up with excitement. "_You _know Uncle Bobby, too?" she gasped, clapping her hands. "I LOVE his house! The car yard super fun to play hide-and-seek in!"

Dean was surprised that she knew Bobby, but grinned in response to her excitement and nodded excitedly. "I know! My dad always says I'm acting like a baby but it's so much fun! When dad left me and Sammy there last time he played hide and seek with me while he was working in the yard. And he read books to me and watched movies with me. But my favorite is when he cooks but lets me sit on the counter so I can watch. He even let me make my own grill cheese! It was awesome!" He leaned closer to her, resting his arms on the side of the bed and shifting so his feet were hanging. He absently started to swing them. "Do you ever read with him?"

She nodded and fidgeted excitedly. "My favorite is when he reads me folk lore. The best are the ones about Wendigo's and stuff. And I really like Revelations, though daddy always says that Revelations is really scary and I shouldn't be reading it."

"Revelations is the best part of the bible," Dean agreed, nodding. "Though, it is kind of scary. My mom… well, she always said that angels were watching over us. But I don't thing I agree with that."

The both of them started giggling.

* * *

><p>"Wow, look at that," John mused, shaking his head and smiling slightly despite himself. "He's talking." He glanced over at the giant beside him. "Guess he likes your girl."<p>

Brad's lips quirked into a smile. "Everyone likes my girl," he said matter-of-factly. "She's sweeter than sugar. Unless she's pissed, anyway. Her and her brother have gotten into a few fights to tell you the truth." He grinned at the memory. "Funny as hell… I probably shouldn't encourage it, but it's hilarious to watch them go all hand-to-hand combat on each other." His expression was suddenly grave. "You have cause to be worried, John. It's not normal for a kid his age to not talk."

John ignored the comment. "I know how to raise my own kid, Brad," he said defensively, not looking at him.

Brad sighed and looked away, occasionally glancing at the two-year-old squirming on the hunter's hip. The baby didn't look comfortable there at all and kept looking around as if searching for Dean, seeing as he was looking down.

"Daddy!"

He spun to find his six-year-old sprinting down the hallway. He just barely held his arms out and braced himself before his son's solid frame leapt at him and slammed against his chest, his arms constricting around his neck. "Hey, Chris," he said happily, hugging him tightly. "Choking, bud."

Chris pulled away, grinning hugely. His hair, dark brown like Brad's, was cut fairly short but the front part was sticking straight up. His blue eyes, identical to his sister's and inherited from Wendie, were bright with excitement. The cuts on his cheek were fading and his left arm was in a blue cast. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"Claire opened her eyes and looked at me! It was awesome!"

"Sounds like it," he replied, beaming with pride. "What color are her eyes?"

"Blue!" he gushed. "But it's darker than mine and Paige's."

"It'll fade to her normal eye color by the time she's six months or so, bud."

"Really?"

"Really. I had blue eyes when I was born."

"Your eyes still are kinda blue," Chris pointed out.

"Yes, but they're mostly green with some gold. Yours were dark blue when you were born. Same with me, and Mommy, and Paige, too."

"Sweet! I'm gonna go tell Paige!" he exclaimed. He then seemed to finally notice John standing there and sobered immediately. "Hello."

"Uh… hi," John said, raising an eyebrow. Damn, but the boy looked just like Brad, solemn half-frown and all.

"You saved us," Chris said.

John just nodded mutely.

Christopher turned to whisper something in his father's ear. Brad nodded and lowered him to the ground, and he immediately wrapped John in a hug. "Thank you," he said, tipping his head up to smile at John. He looked back to his father, expression pleading. "Can I go see Paige now? _Please_?"

"Sure, buddy," Brad said, ruffling his son's hair. He chuckled when his son grinned and charged into his little sister's room.

"Sissy, sissy, guess _what_!" Chris cheered as he charged into the room. He skidded to a halt abruptly as soon as he saw the blonde boy sitting by his sister's bedside. "Who're you?" he demanded, walking quickly to stand between his sister and the boy, his eyes suspicious.

"'S okay, Chris," Paige said quickly, snagging his collar and pulling him backwards. "His name's Dean. He's a friend."

Christopher frowned but hopped up on his sister's bed anyway, sitting crisscross at the foot of her bed. "So why are you here?" he asked Dean.

"Mr. Winchester is his daddy," Paige explained, scooting over and smacking her brother's shoulder. "Stop being such a butthead."

"I'm Chris," he said, sticking his hand out to the other boy, who hesitantly shook it. Then he turned to his sister. "Guess what, Paige! I went in to see baby Claire, and she's all tiny and hooked up to things and stuff and it's kinda scary, but she opened her eyes and looked at me! They're blue. She looks like a funny little old man, too. And her face is all scrunched up, like a bulldog's. And her head is shaped funny, too. It's really square."

"Cool," Paige said with a smile, reaching over to set Dean's Get Well Soon card beside the one Chris had made for her. She peered at his cast, pointing to a funny looking scrawl. "Who signed that?" she wondered.

"Uncle Joey. Daddy's old SEAL team came by today. You were sleeping."

Paige pouted. She loved all the men on her daddy's old Navy SEAL team like they were her own family. As soon as she remembered their visitor, however, she forgot all about being sad she missed her daddy's friends. She turned back to Dean. "So how long you gonna stay?"

Dean shrugged and looked down, suddenly uncomfortable.

"You can talk, you know," she said, reaching out to pat his knee like her grandma always did to make her feel better. "Chris is just a butthead. I could push him off the bed if that makes you happier."

Chris scoffed indignantly, glaring at his sister. "Sissy, that's not nice!" he protested.

A faint smile tugged at Dean's lips when the siblings turned to face off against each other. "Well, you _are _a butthead," she pointed out innocently with a bright smile.

Dean started to giggle at the exchange, quickly covering his mouth with his hand to stifle it.

Paige grinned triumphantly. "Daddy says I'm good at making people smile," she beamed.

"That's acuz you say stuff so stupid they laugh at you," her brother retorted sullenly.

To which Paige cheerfully shoved him off the bed.

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><p><strong>Malibu, California<br>**Newbern Residence  
>June 28, 1985<p>

John halted the Impala in the massive driveway of the Newbern mansion, killing the engine and rubbing his face. He'd just gotten everything in order, and courtesy of Bobby, had gotten wind of a hunt in Maine. Time to grab the boys and haul ass to the literal opposite end of the country.

He glanced at the clock and saw that it was eleven fifty-two. Dean and Sammy would most definitely be asleep, which was probably a good thing, because he didn't want his boys to be too distressed over leaving. Dean seemed to have really taken with Paige and Chris, and Sammy seemed to have really taken to Brad. It was best to have a clean break and start over someplace new, without all the complications of relationships holding them back.

Striding up the expansive steps, he rapped twice on the door. There was a moment of silence until the door swung open to reveal a rather stern looking fellow dressed in an impeccably neat suit.

"May I help you?" the man inquired upon seeing him, one hand folded across his chest, the other gripping the door. John took note of the man's foreign accent. French, he thought, or maybe Italian.

"John Winchester, I'm here to pick up my boys…?" he said by way of explanation.

"Ah, yes, of course," the man said solemnly, stepping aside. "Please, do come in. I am the Newbern family butler. My name is Sheldon Chauncey."

"Uh, good to meet you, Mr. Chauncey," he said awkwardly.

Chauncey's expression didn't falter. The man's eyebrow didn't even twitch. "May I take your coat, sir?" he said formally, extending a white-gloved hand.

John tugged the jacket self-consciously around him. "Uh, no thanks. Is Brad around?"

Chauncey nodded gravely. He gestured towards a massive set of doors. "The master is in his study. If you would be kind enough to follow me."

Man, he'd been impressed with the Newbern mansion before, but now, in full lighting and without a hunt to distract him, the sheer size of the establishment was stunning. It was huge. Not to mention the family also owned mansions in Wyoming, Montana, and up north in Carmel, and to top it all off, an island in the south Pacific and an expansive estate in Australia. They were certainly well off, which was weird, considering that the Newbern family had not only been hunters for generations, but filthy rich, as well.

Brad was in his study, just as the butler had said. As soon as Brad looked up, the butler took his leave and disappeared. Brad straightened as John entered and waved him forward towards his massive oak desk.

"Don't mind Chauncey," Brad said, waving his hand in the direction the butler had disappeared to. "He's been with my family for years. Insists on calling me 'Master Newbern' or 'Master Bradley'. I swear, not only does it make me feel old, but it makes me feel like I'm in a Batman movie." He waved his hand forward again as John had not moved, gesturing towards a chair settled before his huge desk. "Have a seat. I'm just about done with this business."

There was silence for a few short moments, until Brad seemed satisfied and turned off his computer.

"Anything urgent?" John said to make conversation.

"Nah," Brad said, waving his hand in dismissal. "Just a business deal in Japan. The Japanese can get a bit intense at times." He shrugged. "Not that you care. Anyway, I suppose you're here to pick up Dean and Sam?"

John nodded. "I wrapped up the end of my other hunt. Got a new hunt in Maine."

Brad stood and tucked what looked like his hunting journal into a desk drawer before locking it. "Hunting what?" he wondered as he rubbed a hand through his hair.

"Don't know yet. Ghoul, maybe. Though I'm thinking it's probably a shifter."

"Fun," the ex-hunter said without enthusiasm. "Those are two of my least favorite. I prefer the salt-and-burn route."

"Don't we all," John muttered as he followed his friend up a marble staircase to the second floor. "So, uh, how have my boys been? Behaving?"

Brad nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets as they reached the top of the staircase. "Sammy is a quiet little guy, and he sure does love attention. Same with Dean. He's been talking to me a little bit, but mostly he talks to Chris and Paige. Those three are like the Three Muskateers, it cracks me up."

"Paige got released from the hospital?"

"Yep. Her stitches are healing nicely and there was no further danger, so they gave us some pain meds for her and sent her home." His hopeful expression fell somewhat. "Wendy is having some trouble. She got an infection on her incision and has been severely depressed since we lost Garrett. And Claire has a lung infection that they fear may be serious, but for now, she's stable. It kills me to be here, but… I've got two other kids to think about, too."

John admired the Navy SEAL, hunter, cop, and business owner's strength.

"They're in here," he continued, pushing open the door halfway down the left side of the hallway. The room was simple and modestly decorated, with wooden letters spelling out CHRISTOPHER over a mural of a train rolling through a green countryside. The bed was huge and had a tent-like cover on it printed with trains and planes. On the bed, tangled in the sheets and a heap of limbs and bodies, were the three little kids.

John noticed that Dean looked at ease and calm, his expression for once unguarded in sleep. He bent down to run his hand over Dean's forehead, noting how Chris was sleeping with his back pressed up against Dean's and how Paige was cuddling with her big brother.

"They all had nightmares. It happened last night, too. They sort of gravitated towards each other for comfort." Brad shrugged as John carefully lifted Dean into his arms. Without having to be asked, Brad lifted the boy from his arms and settled him into his embrace, holding him securely.

"Follow me," he whispered as they eased out of Christopher's room. Sammy was in what would have been Garrett's nursery, passed out in the crib. Careful not to wake him, John lifted his son into his arms and followed Brad down the stairs, relieved when the huge man helped settle his sons in the back seat.

"Thanks, Brad," John said tiredly, shaking the taller man's hand.

"Anytime, John. And I mean that. Whenever you're through my neck of the woods, pick up the damn phone and call, would you? There's no need for you to waste money on a motel when they could be here with us."

John nodded understanding. "I'll keep in touch," he promised, getting into the car and starting the engine.

"And John?" Brad said, bending down to peer at him through the window.

"Yeah, Brad?"

"Get that kid to Bobby as much as possible. If there's anyone who can crack Dean's shell, it's him. And you need to be concerned over his lack of talking and attachment to Sam. Okay?"

John bit back a rude retort and just nodded, knowing that Brad was only concerned for the welfare of his child. All the same, it wasn't the man's business. He had his own way of raising his kids, just like Brad did.

"See you around."

Brad nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets again. "Later, Winchester," he said with a guarded expression. The tall ex-hunter watched the Impala as it disappeared down his drive, turning left and roaring off into the night.

"God, I hope he takes care of those boys," he whispered, lifting his eyes towards the twinkling stars. With a sigh and a tired roll of his shoulders, he headed back inside, closing the front door behind him. Chauncey was waiting, as usual.

"Is there anything you need, Master Bradley?" the butler inquired politely, expression concerned.

"A cup of hot chocolate, if you will, Chauncey," he said tiredly. "And then get to bed."

Chauncey half-bowed. "As you wish, Master Bradley."

"Quit calling me Master Bradley," he said with no heat, as it was an argument he'd lost a thousand times before.

"I think it would be wise for you to head to bed as well, sir," the butler pressed as he appeared a few minutes later with a steaming cup of hot chocolate in his hand.

Brad accepted it. "That sounds like a good plan, Chauncey." He bit his butler good night before heading upstairs to first check on his babies, and then crawling into bed himself.

The half-finished cup of hot chocolate sat cooling on his nightstand, forgotten. Beside it lay a note, scrawled in John Winchester's handwriting, of his phone numbers in case of emergency.

He clicked off the light, rolled over, and was asleep in moments.

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><p><strong>EN**: The first few chapters are just going to be random snippets throughout Dean and Paige's respective childhoods. Some chapters will be soley Paige, others, soley Dean, with frequent appearances from Noah, Jared, Chris, Elliot, Connie, etc, as well as a couple of characters I plan to bring in in _Fight the Good Fight_. Dean eventually ends up in TC, never fear...

**Reviews=LOVE!**  
>:D<p> 


	2. Hardheads

**A/N: **Hey guys. Wanted to post this before I leave for Wyoming. Woot! Don't expect another chapter until next week sometime. I get back on Sunday, but I doubt I'll have any time to write. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, save for my main characters and plot lines. I'd appreciate it if I want' sued for mentioning Dean Winchester in all his gorgeousness, thanks.

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<br>**Hardheads

**Malibu, California**  
>October 3, 1989<p>

Paige ran up the stairs, her teddy bear clutched under her arm, a present from her grandpa. She wanted her big brother right this minute. The only problem was she was going so fast her toes caught the last step and she pitched forward into the hallway, letting out a startled yell. She squeezed her eyes shut as the floor rushed up to meet her.

At the very last moment, arms constricted around her and lifted her airborne, setting her back on her feet. Pushing her white-blonde hair out of her eyes, Paige beamed up at her big brother, who had came to her rescue same as always.

Chris shook his head and handed her back her teddy bear, his dark blue eyes twinkling. "One of these days you're going to do that and I won't be there to catch you," he pointed out. "Why do you gotta be such a klutz?"

"I am _not _a klutz," she argued, stomping her foot angrily. "I came to find you."

"What for?"

"Mommy and Daddy are fighting again."

"Mom and dad always fight," he pointed out. Too late, he realized he shouldn't have said anything. Paige's lip started to wobble and thick tears gathered in her eyes. Crap. He hated it when she cried. "Oh, come on, don't do that," he pleaded, awkwardly patting her shoulder.

"I hate her," she whispered fiercely. "I want her to leave. I don't ever want to see her again. I heard daddy shouting about a divorce trial." She sniffed and didn't protest when he pulled her into a brotherly hug. Her big blue eyes looked up at him, the tears making her vision swim. "Chris, what's a divorce trial?"

"It means dad doesn't want to be married no more," he dutifully explained. As the ten-year-old, he was older, and it was his duty to know everything so that he could tell her stuff, seeing as she was only eight and didn't know as much as he did.

"How come?"

"He doesn't like mom much anymore, Paige."

"But how come?"

Chris shrugged and let go of her. "He just doesn't," he said, not having any other explanation. "Now come on. We have to get ready for school." Before she could argue, seeing as that was her favorite thing in the world, he hurried into his room and shut the door in her face.

Paige huffed and frowned. She didn't like it when he did that, it irritated her. Dejected, she dragged her feet until she got to her room. Her new maid, Greta, was waiting for her.

"There you are," the lady gently scolded. "What in heaven's name took you so long, child?"

"Nothing," she said innocently, running over to gently tuck her bear under the covers. Greta was a nice enough lady. She taught her things and was always nice and reminded her of how her mommy used to be because she smelled like cinnamon. Greta handed her the pieces of her school uniform that she dutifully pulled on. There was her blue plaid pleated skirt, followed by her white collared shirt embroidered on the left breast by her school's symbol, a gold lion. Then was the blue jacket with the same embroidered symbol, her knee-high socks, and her new shoes. She held still like she was supposed to while Greta plated her white-blonde hair into a braid and clipped her stray pieces with school-approved barrettes.

"There," Greta beamed, hugging the little girl tightly. "You're all prim and proper for your first day."

"I'm in first grade, Greta," Paige reminded her family's maid, rolling her eyes. "I've been in school since Preschool. Why do I have to go? I don't like it there."

"Well, missy miss, maybe you shouldn't go getting into so many fights then," she gently chastised while she straightened the girl's collar. Her warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. "You should start acting like a lady of class."

"But I don't wanna be a lady of class," Paige whined, pouting. "Besides, the boys are more fun to hang out with. I can play rugby and wrestle and get dirty. The other girls don't do that."

"That's because young ladies aren't supposed to," the kindly woman pointed out, hugging her into her side. "What you need is a real mama."

"But the one I have _is _my real mama."

"It's about damn time she started acting like it. She all but ignores you and that devilish brother of yours and showers your little sister with nothing but affection while she drinks herself silly. She's going to spoil little Miss Claire if she doesn't stop."

"Claire is already spoiled," Paige argued. "Daddy says so all the time."

"Okay then, Smarty-pants. Off to school you go. The car will be waiting for you." Greta handed Paige her backpack and dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. "I'll see you when you get home. You've got a lesson today."

Paige immediately brightened at the reminder. She had horseback riding lessons every other day and loved them more than anything else. Her daddy had gotten her a horse for Christmas two years ago, a well-trained dappled gray Warmblood gelding who's show name was Summer Storm, Storm for short. With her horse on her mind, she skipped out of her room and down the stairs, straight into the limo. Chris was already there, his rugby bag beside his backpack.

Chris looked at her, his eyes hard. "No fights today," he said sternly. "Ignore them if they harass you."

"But you always said to fight back."

"Not like this. Don't punch people. Okay?"

Paige nodded, and he was pacified.

Their mom appeared with little Claire on her hip – she was five – and was tickling her. The two older Newbern kids scooted to the far end of the limo, ignoring her completely when she set Claire at the end of the limo, dropping about thirty kisses on her head while she told her to have a good day. The limo pulled away from the curb.

Chris glanced sideways at his sister, quietly reading a book, and was confident Paige would keep her head down.

He should have known better.

* * *

><p>Brad Newbern turned off his pager and stuffed it into his pocket, annoyed beyond words. His secretary had pulled him out of an important meeting with news that his daughter had yet again gotten into a fight, claiming she was defending her little friend Ally Baraldi from bullies.<p>

"Tony," he called out, noticing his friend and co-owner of J&J Enterprises hurrying in the same direction. He put his arm across his childhood friend's shoulders and shook his head. "Can you believe our kids?"

"My kid is as quiet as a mouse," Tony countered with a grin. "It's your little one who's the spitfire. Maybe those martial arts classes weren't such a good idea."

"Paige claims that Millicent Richardson has stolen her lunch money for the past week."

"And you believe her?"

"My girl is honest to a fault," Brad admitted. "She is a horrible liar. So yes, I believe her. Now we just have to convince that cranky old bastard of that fact."

Tony groaned. "Can you believe that John Doyle is _still _headmaster?"

"It probably doesn't help much that the two of us were complete hell-raisers while we were there. He still makes me feel like a naughty five-year-old, and I graduated with honors from this damn school," he chuckled as they entered the doors, walking the familiar path up to the headmaster's office.

"Mr. Baraldi, Mr. Newbern, he's waiting for you," the secretary sighed as soon as she saw them, waving them into the headmaster's office.

Brad steeled himself, clapped Tony on the shoulder, and led the way into the familiar office. Upon entrance, only his severely rigid military discipline training could keep him from busting up laughing right then and there.

Headmaster John Doyle looked surly and old, getting on in years rather quickly, it seemed. His hair was gray, his face lined and bordering on ancient. Those cool blue eyes hadn't changed a bit. But that wasn't what caught his attention, oh, no.

It was the two little girls pouting on his couch, arms crossed and lips jutting out, feet dangling six inches off the ground. Brad's baby girl was sporting a shiner, scraped knees, torn socks, and grass in her hair, and little miss Allyson didn't fare much better. The two of them looked like they'd just stepped off an audition for mixed martial arts minus the martial arts uniforms.

Brad preferred standing to sitting, and so he did, folding his arms behind his back to stare down at the feeble old man who had once made his life a living hell. "Headmaster Doyle," he said conversationally. "Good to see you again, sir."

Tony extended the same greeting, only just managing to keep himself from fidgeting like a nervous high school freshman.

Doyle's lips curved into a faint smile. "Not quite the hell raisers you used to be, eh, boys?" he rasped, amusement sparkling in his eyes. His eyes drifted to the girls, who were staring at the floor to avoid their father's gazes. "A trait, it seems, you passed onto your lovely children." He raised his voice slightly. "Girls, tell your fathers what happened."

Paige immediately jumped down, clenched her fists at her sides, and took up a position in front of Allyson, two years her junior. "I _told _you already, Mr. Headmaster! Millicent was being a meanie and she stole Ally's lunch money again!"

"Tell your _father_, Paige," Doyle patiently repeated, nodding at Brad, unfazed by the girl's fiery temper.

She gulped and craned her head back to look up at her father. "She stole Ally's lunch money again, daddy, I swear. She was only bein' mean cuz Ally's so much smaller than she is," she said, voice a little wobbly.

"I'm not small!" Ally countered suddenly, pushing her mop of dark hair out of her eyes.

"You are so small you barely reach my shoulder," Paige corrected, patting her on the shoulder when Ally pouted at the rebuke. Her blue eyed gaze returned back to her father, almost pleading. "I didn't do nothing, I swear."

"Anything," Brad corrected, kneeling in front of his daughter to place his hands on her hips. "You didn't do anything."

"Anything," she dutifully repeated, beaming, revealing her missing front tooth. Brad was almost charmed out of scolding her.

Almost.

But not quite.

"Sweetheart," he began, forcing himself to reduce the following conversation to little people terms, "you cannot go around punching people on the nose." He held up a hand when she started to protest. "_Especially _when she takes Ally's lunch money. If you are as mean to Millicent as she is to you, it makes you no better than her."

"I am better than her," Paige whined, shifting uncomfortably as tears started to well. She hated when her daddy got all serious like this. He was always right and it wasn't fair.

"What do I always say?"

Paige bit her lip and stared down at the top of his shoulder, silently refusing to answer. He gave her a little shake, prompting her to look up at him. "That the only kind of music is country and western," she said, smiling slightly.

It was fast becoming difficult not to grin. Stubborn as a bull and a sarcastic little thing – she was turning out to be a miniature, albeit female, version of him. "The other thing," Brad said patiently, one eyebrow raised.

She let out a mournful sigh and scuffed her shoe on the tile. "That I gotta be bigger than other people and always be nice to everyone, even if I think they're big mean bullies with giant hairy moles and dorky glasses."

"Paige Kimberly Newbern," Brad warned, "you do not make fun of other people. If you have those thoughts, you keep them to yourself and only to yourself. Do you hear me?"

Paige ducked her head again, meekly replying, "Yes, daddy."

Brad, satisfied that his daughter had somewhat learned her lesson, stood and turned towards Headmaster Doyle. "Is she to be suspended?"

Doyle shook his head and stood. "Millicent has been let go from this institution due to irreconcilable differences on the interactions she had with other students," he said. "I will let the both of them off with a warning. The next time it happens, however, I will be forced to take measures, no matter how pure the heart and intention behind the act. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Brad and Tony said in unison. Tony bent to scoop his daughter up in his arms and followed his best friend and goddaughter out of the office, releasing a relieved sigh when the door shut behind them.

"That went well," Tony said sarcastically, rolling his eyes at his beaming six-year-old daughter. "Good thing you did all the talking. I transported right back to that time in third grade when you thought it would be funny to make torches out of our shirts and lab chemicals and parade them around the school."

Grinning at the memory, Brad paused to pat his daughter on the top of the head. "Go get cleaned up by the school nurse," he ordered, obliging her when she requested a hug. "The car will pick you up after school and take you to your lesson. Be sure to wash up before dinner tonight and mind Greta, okay?"

Brad and Tony hurried back out to their cars – there was business to attend to. On the way to the office, however, they shared many a funny story about how much their young daughters compared to them.

Paige grabbed Ally's hand and squeezed. "I told you they wouldn't get mad," she whispered loudly.

Ally grinned at her best friend. "Do you think _Chris_ is gonna be mad?"

"Probably," she grinned, spinning in the direction of the playground. "He told me not to get into any fights." Turning towards her best friend, she grinned a silly grin that showed the gap in her teeth. "Let's go annoy him."

The two little girls raced off to track down ten-year-old Chris – for as Chris already knew quite well, it was their job to annoy the hell out of him.

* * *

><p>Paige clucked her tongue expertly at her gelding Storm, goading him into a smooth and steady trot. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Ally was following, as she didn't want to cut her best friend off. Ally's mare Echo usually bit Storm on his rump when she did that, which made Storm antsy.<p>

The car had brought them back to Paige's family's house in Malibu, which had a stable on the grounds. This stable also housed Ally's family's horses and a few others. Brad employed well-known trainers to teach his children and godchildren how to ride safely and properly.

"Now, girls," their instructor Matthias Schwartz called, pacing in the center of the arena so that he was always facing them as they rode circles around him. "I want you to practice the two-point position for two laps until we start the jumping, alright?"

"Yes, Matthias," Paige and Ally echoed in unison, doing what he requested, goading their horses to canter around the ring. Ally couldn't resist letting out a happy whoop of joy, being sure to keep her positioning correct so the surly instructor wouldn't get mad.

Matthias deemed them ready, and encouraged them to start jumping, coaching their leg, seat, and hand positioning for the better part of two hours. The girls greatly enjoyed the experience, their first time ever jumping. When their lesson was over, they headed out of the arena and along the road towards the stable, in the direction of the mansion.

Paige glanced sideways at the growl of a car engine pulling up the drive. The drive itself went right past the arena, up to the top of the hill where the Newbern mansion stood, regal against the skyline. A black old car – an Impala, she knew instantly, thanks to Chris' constant obsession with car models – was rolling slowly towards them.

* * *

><p>Ten-year-old Dean Winchester paused arguing with his brother mid-sentence, instead turning his attention out the window to an enclosed area they were driving by, slowly, so as to not get too much extra dirt on the Impala's paint job.<p>

Two horses were walking along the side of the road. One, white with gray dapples, curved muscular neck, intelligent brown eyes, and a straight-profiled face split in half by a white stripe; the other, a docile looking creature with an elegant dished face and brown-and-white splotched markings that looked as if someone had taken a brown horse and tossed white paint upon it. The whites of the second horse's eyes showed when the Impala's engine growled slightly in protest to the slowness.

It wasn't really the horses he was staring at, though. It was the girls sitting on them. He'd seen some horseback riding on TV, sure, between stays in motel rooms when there was literally nothing else on. But he'd never seen a horse and rider up close, in fact, he'd never even seen a _horse _up close, and so, was startled by the size of the gray-and-white one. He'd seen westerns with horses, too, but these saddles were different, sloped and kind of flat, with no horn thingy in the front, and the girls' legs weren't stretched out like a cowboy's, they were drawn up in stirrups that were a rounded triangle shape.

And man, were the girls dressed weird. The girls were wearing white form-fitting stretchy-looking pants tucked into knee-length black boots resting securely in the stirrups. They both had on a white, collared long-sleeved shirts with a black vest that looked kind of like the vests they used on cops strapped securely over it to protect their backs in case of a fall, he assumed. There were black rounded helmets on their heads, and a strange, wide strap that hid most of their chins. The girl on the black-and-white horse had brown hair pulled into an immaculate bun, where the girl on the gray and white one had blonde hair pulled into a braid.

"Who're they, dad?" he wondered, squinting up at the girls, who stared back at him with frank curiosity, before glancing at each other and urging their horses to trot, keeping up with the car's pace.

"The blonde one is Brad's daughter, I think," John said distractedly as the horses veered towards the barn structure away from the main house. "Not sure on the brunette."

"The horses are pretty," Sammy said mournfully, watching the girls dismount and lead the horses out of sight.

"Yeah," Dean repeated, tucking his brother into his side as he pushed the images of the elegant creatures to the back of his mind.

"How come they dress so funny?" Sam wondered, brow furrowing in thought.

"It's called English, Sammy," John supplied from the front seat. "It's a style that started in England. It's very prim and proper, obviously."

"Obviously," Dean agreed, rolling his eyes at John's turned back and winking down at his grinning little brother. "So. What were we arguing about?"

"I dunno," Sammy giggled in response, clapping his hands over his mouth and settling into his side. "I think we were trying to decide if Legolas or Aragorn was more awesome."

"Well," Dean teased, tweaking his nose, "I'd say that's pretty even, wouldn't you?"

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Having SO MUCH FUN with little Sammy. Hehe, he reminds me of Levi... ;)

**REVIEWS=LOVE!**  
>:D<p> 


	3. The Conclave

**A/N: **I'm alive, I know. Shocker, right? Got this and the next done. Give me 4 reviews and I'll post it as soon as I get the four!

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>  
>The Conclave<p>

_May 28, 1989_

"Christopher John!" Brad Newbern yelled at the top of his lungs up the stairs of his Malibu mansion. "You and your sisters get down here this instant!"

Chris appeared at the landing, Paige's hand clasped in one hand and Claire's in the other. "Sorry, dad," he called as he trotted down them, dragging the half-awake little girl in his wake. "She couldn't find Cocoa."

Paige rubbed her eyes and looked up at her father blearily. "Papa, where are we going?" she mumbled, as he scooped her up in his arms and cradled her to his chest. Claire stuck her thumb in her mouth and followed closely to Chris' side.

"We're going to visit Grandpa John in Wyoming," he replied, shifting her to one arm so that he could grasp Chris' hand with the other. "You'll be with Ally and Jeremy, too, and a few other little friends of yours."

"Why Wyoming?" Chris wondered sleepily as they passed Chauncey on the way out the front door. The sky was still dark, and he was left wondering what time it was. Early, he'd guess, or maybe it was really late? It was hard to tell, because both times it was dark outside.

"Your grandpa has called an emergency, ah, meeting," Brad hedged, as he settled them in the limo, one child curled into each side with little Claire in his lap snuggled into his chest, tucking them under his arms as they snuggled into his warmth. "You can go back to sleep. I'll wake you up when we get to LAX."

"What's LAX?" Paige murmured, only half-awake.

"An airport, dummy," Chris replied, just as sleepily.

"Be nice," Brad sighed, rubbing his eyes and fighting back a yawn, silently wondering just what in the hell the big emergency was that he had to drag himself and his children out of bed at such an ungodly hour. There was no way he was leaving them home alone with their mother. He'd rather chop off his own arm.

He was jolted awake by the driver gently shaking his shoulder.

"Sir, we've arrived," he whispered.

Brad grunted and rubbed his eyes, finding himself on the tarmac beside his private jet. Yawning, he scooped up one girl in each arm and scooted out of the limo, holding them securely against him as his arms protested the weight. Chris stumbled along sleepily behind him. His kids were growing, that much was certain.

Keeping them asleep and getting up the stairs was a challenge, but he got them settled in the seats, buckled in, and safely tucked away. He was asleep as soon as he buckled his own seatbelt, and didn't wake up again until the gentle jolt of landing at Cheyenne airport.

His dad was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. John Newbern III was a tall, imposing man, and even at fifty-four, didn't have a spot of gray in his thick dark brown hair. His light blue eyes were quizzical as he watched his only son struggle under Christopher's weight.

"He's gotten big," John said gruffly, reaching out to pull his only grandson into his arms. He was surprised at how heavy he'd gotten. "Filling out, too."

"Hmph," was all Brad had to say as he jogged back up the stairs into the plane, emerging a moment later with Paige and Claire cradled against his chest.

John sucked in a startled breath, as if all the air had suddenly rushed from his lungs as he saw Claire. "Damn. Looks just like her mother."

"Don't remind me," Brad muttered, stopping in front of his dad. "Where exactly are we going?"

"Home, of course," John replied shortly, striding off across the tarmac towards a waiting SUV. He and Brad got the youngsters into the back and covered them in blankets before sitting in the middle seats, chatting quietly while the driver pulled the SUV out of Cheyenne and onto the highway towards Thunder Creek.

"Seriously, dad, what's the big goddamn emergency? It had better be good for me to drag myself and my kids out of bed at one in the morning," Brad said, rubbing his face.

"Not an emergency, exactly," John hedged, sighing heavily. "Just in need of a meeting."

"I see." Brad quirked a brow. "Again, dad, why am I here this early? I could have flown in at, you know, _normal _hours."

John shot him a hard look, as if to say _shut your goddamn sarcastic mouth for a freakin' minute so I can talk already, Jesus_.

Despite his foul mood, Brad grinned. Just a little. Even now, it was funny as hell to get a rise out of his dad. Almost as fun as picking political battles with his hard-ass-Democrat mother. Almost. His dad never _did _get quite the shade of red his mom accomplished on a frequent basis.

"Davis Harris has been appointed to the vacant seat on the Conclave."

Brad started, eyes going wide. "David Harris," he repeated, trying not to laugh. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack," John rumbled, rolling his eyes. "Be serious, Bradley. Colton has stepped down in light of his failing health. Of all in the Brotherhood, he is the most qualified. We have ordered him to come here immediately. All members of the Conclave must be present to witness the oath."

"Dad, I'm not on the Conclave," Brad interrupted.

"Shut it, you." John huffed in frustration, resisting the urge to smack his offspring. "I _said_, to hear the oaths. You and the others are here for an entirely different reason. The powers of one Constance Isabella Rose Brennan have developed further. We will be discussing this, among other things. Cole's abilities seem to have grown as well."

"Any more theories as to why, exactly?"

"None as of yet," John admitted, grouchily. "We'll come up with something. Kids that can teleport aren't just _born_. They're made. Somehow." He rubbed his face.

Brad sighed in return. "Hell," he muttered, rubbing his face. He looked exactly like his father in that moment. John noticed. He didn't. "I have a feeling this is going to be a long day. Got any coffee?"

John silently handed him the extra mug he'd brought along for that exact purpose.

* * *

><p>In the back seat, Paige was dreamily half-awake, listening to the deep rumbling of her daddy's voice and the accented deep grumble of her grandpa's. She loved his voice, especially when he called her a "wee bonnie lassie".<p>

The things they were saying buzzed about inside her head, but she didn't have any idea what it meant, and was too sleepy to ask. Conclave was a familiar one, though. Her papa was always on the phone with someone from a Conclave, whatever that way.

She yawed, and the talking stopped abruptly. Too sleepy to notice, she just snuggled closer to Chris' warmth and nestled her head on his side, cheek resting against his ribcage. She was almost asleep when they started talking again.

"She'll be a pretty one, lad," her grandpa said softly.

"Tell me about it," her dad sighed in response. "I'm in such deep shit, it's not even remotely funny."

"Did you hear the news?"

"Obviously not, or you wouldn't be telling me."

"John Winchester is in town, looking for work. Rumor has it he and Elkins had a fallout."

Brad snorted loudly. "John has fallouts with everyone."

"He called you since…since what happened?"

"No, dad," Brad replied. "Not once."

"Humph. Always thought he was a bit of an asshole m'self."

"You think everyone's an asshole."

"Not true," John countered gruffly, "I tolerate Clayborne, don't I?"

"You tolerate each other," Brad corrected. "Besides, you like him. Don't even try to deny it."

"Fine," he huffed. "Now, about this Conclave business. David has brought his two youngest along with him, and we need someplace to stick 'em…"

"Just let them roam, dad. They'll play hide-and-seek like normal kids. Maybe, they'll…."

The conversation was lost to her as she drifted to sleep, lulled into unconsciousness by their deep voices and Christopher's body heat.

* * *

><p>The next time Paige awoke, the sun was cresting over the horizon. She blinked sleepily and rubbed her eyes, sitting up so that her blanket slipped down off her shoulders. Eyes wide, she studied her surroundings. She was in a big room with light yellow walls. The bed she was sleeping in had a pretty sunflower quilt, the pillows light and fluffy. Her favorite stuffed animal, Cocoa, was tucked into bed beside her. She knew this room…somehow. Her sleepy brain couldn't remember, though.<p>

"Chris?" she whispered, sliding out of bed. Her nightgown was white with sunflower trimming, unfamiliar but warm and comfortable, and her hair had been braided, pretty white ribbons holding it in place.

She crept out into the hall. It was huge and wide and really long, lit with the light from the coming dawn.

"Hello?" she whispered.

"Hi," a voice whispered back.

Paige jumped and backed up against the wall as a tall blonde-haired boy slipped out of the room directly across from her. For a moment, she didn't recognize him, until she saw his eyes. She beamed then and raced forward to hug him tightly. "Noah!" she cried joyfully.

"Hey, baby cakes," Noah grinned, ruffling her hair as she pulled away. "When did you get here?"

"I dunno," Paige replied, shoving his hand away with a disgruntled frown. She _hated _that nickname. "Where's here?"

"Wyoming, dummy," Noah replied, rolling his eyes.

She was too happy to see him to take offense to the dumb nickname the boys all called her. She hadn't seen him since Christmas, when Uncle Bruce had come to visit with Noah and Mandy and little Cole, who could barely talk.

"Come on, grandma's got breakfast about ready," Noah said. "She sent me up to get you." He held out his hand, and she grasped it happily. He led her down the stairs.

"How many people are here?" she whispered.

"Lots," he grinned, winking at her. Before he could elaborate, they emerged into the kitchen. When she stopped abruptly, he stopped with her, reaching up to gently tug one of her braids. "Come on, they won't bite."

Paige was stunned. All her cousins were here! Well, not all of them. Not even _close _to all of them. But lots of 'em were. She grinned and waved at them all before tearing free of Noah's grasp and running to her grandma, a tall willowy woman of fifty-three with brown hair fashioned into a perm.

"Missed you, sweetie peedie," Mary said, wrapping the girl up in her arms. "Why don't you go sit at the table?"

"Okay," she reluctantly agreed, moving to the free spot between Chris and Claire. There were fourteen children at the table including her, all sitting quietly. The setups of their plates and cups were perfect, but grandma always did that.

For the first time, she noticed the unfamiliar dark haired girl and boy, and the unfamiliar blonde girl peering back at her across the table.

"Who's that?" she wondered, pointing at the dark-haired girl.

Mary whacked her on the wrist with her wooden spoon. "Pointing is rude," she said sternly.

"Sorry," Paige said quickly, not meaning it. "But who is she?"

"I'm Summer, and he's Kyle," Summer introduced herself with a slight smile. "Our daddy's David and he's here for the special meeting."

"Like our daddy?" Paige looked to Chris when she asked the question, nodding when Chris did. "Oh, okay. So does your daddy work with ours?"

"I think so," Kyle said, shifting in his seat as he dropped his hazel eyes to the tabletop.

"I'm Connie," the blonde girl spoke up. "My daddy's a hunter."

Everyone knew what that meant. It was a nice ice breaker, and in no time at all, the kids were happily babbling. Paige announced she, Summer, and Connie would be best friends forever, overlooking the fact that she'd known the two girls for less than two minutes. The other girls didn't mind, in fact, they were just as excited.

Breakfast was its usual glorious spread that was inhaled with manners (not much on the manners but just enough so Mary didn't smack the whole lot of them) and cleaned up. Noah proposed they play hide and seek, and while Mary was busy in the kitchen cleaning up the dishes the kids disappeared into the house.

A quick game of rock-paper-scissors settled the fight for who was it first – Noah lost and started counting.

Paige darted up the stairs, moving lightly straight for the attic. She knew this house back to front, and the attic was dark. There was an extra room up there so it wasn't yucky, but she could hide and Noah probably wouldn't think to look there. She crept into the room and silently slid under one of the beds, leaving the door open just as it was. A shaft of light gave her just enough light to see by.

Noah's distant voice drifted up to her through a vent in the floor just right of her elbow. Frowning, she realized she also heard her daddy. She leaned out from under the bed to peer down through the vent. There, below her, was a giant table, and around it her daddy and a bunch of her uncles who weren't actually her uncles, but she called them uncle anyways cuz they were always around.

A creak on the stairs made her gasp a little as she shot back beneath the bed. It wasn't Noah, though. It was Summer. "Over here," she whispered, waving her over. Without saying a word, the younger girl crawled right in next to her.

"He's right behind me," Summer breathed, and sure enough, Noah appeared in the doorway. He spotted the two little forms under the bed immediately and walked over, but got distracted by the vent in the floor. He paused to peer down through it, watching his dad talking.

Somehow, Paige wasn't quite sure how and neither was Summer, Noah brought back all the other kids with juice boxes. The kids sat in a circle around the vent, peering down at the strange meeting going on below them.

Something about Connie and Cole being part-demon, a Concave, and a bun of some kind or another.

"What are they saying?" Claire whispered.

"Shh," the room chorused, glaring at her.

Claire was immediately quiet but moved closer. She accidentally knocked over her juice box, and it leaked out. Nobody noticed until Noah felt the wetness against his calf.

"Claire," he groaned, trying to mop up the mess with his shirt.

From down in the room, Brad was pacing around the table, talking as they formulated a plan. He stopped behind his chair and was halfway through suggesting to Bruce something that rhymed with "shut the front door" when liquid dripped onto his forehead. He jumped and looked up to see the liquid in question coming out of the vent.

"What's leaking, dad?" he wondered, looking at John.

John opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say a word, the vent dropped abruptly, and in a rush of movement and a loud bang, Noah landed in the middle of the table looking dazed but otherwise unharmed.

The Conclave was too stunned to react with violence. They stared at the blonde devil child sprawled on the wood.

"Hey, dad," Noah wheezed, grinning sheepishly up at his father.

Bruce's jaw flexed. "Noah David," he said dangerously quietly, "what in God's name are you doing in the attic?"

Noah just looked up, and the Conclave did the same, to behold the children peeking through the hole. Chris grinned and waved, and the rest of the kids immediately followed suit.

Brad rolled his eyes.

"Dad, I have a proposition to make," he said calmly.

"That being?" John wondered, suddenly wary.

"To deal with these Conclave issues…" Brad trailed off, glancing at Noah, who had sat up and was brushing himself off. "What would you say to keeping the kids all summer?"

John's eyes all but bugged out of his head. "What?" he squawked.

"C'mon dad, it'll be good for you. Keep you young."

"Have you utterly lost your mind?"

"Maybe," Brad allowed, shrugging.

"I…" John looked at the haggard faces surrounding him, particularly David Harris. A part of him knew doing this would benefit the Conclave, and the Brotherhood, as a whole. "Oh, alright," he sighed.

Hopefully he wouldn't want to blow his brains out by the end of the week…

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Reviews are love, peeps….


	4. Indian Summer

**A/N: **Wee!Noah/Jared/Paige/Chris/Kyle/Jared/Elliot/etc. I do so love my characters in Wee!version. They're great fun, and unbelievably adorable. *dies*

**Disclaimer**: I own every here thing in this chapter. Thanks so much. It's. MINE. Be jealous. ;P

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>  
>Indian Summer<p>

_Summer, 1989_

The beginning of summer was a whirlwind of happy chaos. John and Mary alternated between being bone-tired and thoroughly exasperated as they struggled to manage the nine incredibly energetic children under their care. As parents they themselves had only had two, and God knew this batch of youngsters could try the patience of a saint.

Chris, Noah, Kyle, and the Knox boys (they were always referred to as such; it took too long to list out Theo, Michael, Jake, Elliot, and Jared) were thick as thieves, terrorizing the town with their loud antics and mischievous pranks. The first day of their summer-long visit, they were playing baseball and accidentally shattered the window of Turner's Olde Fashioned Soda Shoppe while John and Mary were in the market with the girls. The owner, Old Bill Turner (third of his name), was not amused. John Newbern hurriedly intervened. It took the offer of ten of his best breeding cows, a brand new window, twelve hunters, and a sound rapping over the heads of the boys' via Bill's ladle to convince him _not _to shoot the boys on sight.

Of course, the boys went back the very next day, being careful to leave the baseball at home so they wouldn't break the window. Old Bill wasn't thrilled, but those damn charming smiles and puppy dog eyes had him caving in two seconds flat. In fact, the crotchety old bastard had actually developed quite a fondness for the lads.

The girls, now, that was a different story. One was never seen without the other two. In fact, they even slept in the same bed and somehow managed to squeeze themselves onto the same chair and all their food onto the same plate at dinnertime. In no time at all, they'd been abbreviated to Con'an'Paige'an'Sum. It was quicker than saying all three names out one after the other, and besides, they all just ran together, anyway.

John and Mary couldn't decide if the girls were worse than the boys. When they weren't sneaking out onto the roof in the dead of night and giving them a goddamn heart attack in the process – "But Grandpapa, the stars are so pretty! Aren't they Grandpapa?" (Cue batting eyelashes and bashful smiles) – they were setting his barn on fire. And damn if he knew _how_, but they somehow managed to do it twice in a week.

To add to the already existing chaos, when he called them in at dusk, they liked to run into the crops and hide while he got more and more frantic to find them before darkness settled in and they got stranded. It made him angry, of course. At least until they emerged, giggling and with dirt smudges on their little cherub faces – and his anger would dissipate as they launched into his arms with peals of delighted laughter, nearly knocking him on his ass in the process.

This, John observed over the first week of watching over the nine youngsters, was an unfortunate trait of his. Hell, he didn't even get mad when Connie decided to take the tractor on a joyride through the fields with her partners-in-crime squealing with delight right along beside her. He hadn't even minded when they busted up his fence and let loose a quarter of his herd into the other field. Mary had been furious at the girls, even more so at him. Instead of running after them to rectify the situation, John fell to the ground clutching his stomach and laughing like a loon.

Aye, the girls were hellions, and the boys were terrors. But he wouldn't trade the summer with them for the world. They joy and laughter they brought back to his house made it well worth it.

Even when they raided his underwear drawer and used them as hats during cops and robbers. At that point, Mary gave up trying to discipline them and instead just laughed right along with her husband.

Everyone in town adored them, of course. It became perfectly normal to see John and Mary cruising through town in their pickup truck, the fifteen children in the truck bed grinning impishly at Ol' Sherriff Knox every time they passed him by, giggling over the way his bottle mustache twitched in amusement at the sight.

By some act of divine intervention, he and Mary had to go to the hospital only once. The boys decided one day in early June they wanted to be Superman (Mary had let them watch the Christopher Reeve Superman the night before) and got the idea in their heads that they wanted to jump off the barn roof into a hay pile. The shot of terror John felt when he saw the boys lined up on the edge of the barn roof very nearly did him in right then and there. With a horrified bellow he sprinted for the stables, arms waving wildly while he hollered for them to step back from the edge. All the boys heard him and paused to peer down at his form, all but Kyle, who did a swan dive into the hay pile.

And promptly started bellowing just as loud as John. His left arm was broken, and during the rush of panicking children and his panicking wife, John managed to scoop up the boy, shove him gently in the car, and drive like a bat out of hell to the hospital. On the way, he swore he was going to keep the lot of them under lock and key – INSIDE – for the rest of the summer, so they wouldn't get a chance to terrify him like this again.

That lasted all of two minutes after he got Kyle back to the ranch house. Kyle was proud as punch of his blue cast and took great pleasure in showing it off to his "sibs", as he called the group of kids. By the time the little ones were done with the Sharpie, Kyle's cast had fourteen neat, childishly scrawled names in black against the blue.

Of course, not ten seconds later, they were playing mud football in the back yard. John gave up and just sent up a prayer that they'd avoid the roof and other life-threatening activities for the remainder of their summer.

Mary was at the stove practically half the day, keeping the bellies of the nine growing pre-teens and children full. God knew, they were eating her out of house and home, but on the bright side no food ever went to waste.

Constantly keeping the kids in sight and entertained brought new life to the Newbern house. For a while, the sprawling ranch house had seemed empty, but no longer. There was now the constant babble of voices and the pounding of little feet, through all hours of the night, no less.

John looked up from his book – reading was a luxury he hadn't gotten much of since May – to peer at his wife, who had paused in her sewing. (Noah had gotten stuck in the barbed wire, and the kids learned the hard way why you don't yank. He tore the seat of his pants and was marching up to the house with his underwear-clad bottom hanging out. John had laughed so hard he cried.)

"What is it, Mare?" he said pleasantly, marking his page.

"Shh. Listen."

He did. Nothing. And then –

"Ah," he said. Soft whispered voices drifted down the stairs as doors squeaked open. "They're doing it again," he added with a sigh.

"It's your turn to check on them," Mary announced, slipping her glasses back on to focus on mending Noah's favorite pants.

John sighed, set his book aside, and headed up the stairs. This had been happening for all the time the kids had been here. He went straight to Noah and Chris' shared room, and sure enough, all nine kids were piled into the two twin beds hastily shoved together by their sleepy owners. They were jumbled all over each other, a tangle of limbs and Star Wars sheets and stuffed animals.

He smiled gently and fetched some blankets from the cabinets in the hall to spread over their sleeping forms. He brushed a hand over each of their heads, marveling at the sheer innocence in their soft, relaxed expressions. It hit him then – these were not all his grandchildren by blood, but from today until the day he died, he would love and cherish them as if they were.

The next day, he went right on in to Knox's Furniture Store and purchased a king bed. It was delivered two days later and replaced the shoved-together twin beds in the room Chris and Noah had originally shared. And, of course, he had to go out and get Star Wars sheets for _that,_ too.

John had sat them all down (try shoving nine children onto a couch and getting them to shut up long enough to listen) and told them to just fall asleep together and quit creeping around when they thought he and Mary were asleep. Hunters, he explained, had incredible hearing from a lifetime of the "baddies" sneaking up on them, and all their creeping around was interrupting his sleeping.

"More like snoring!" Mary had teased, making the children giggle and John send her a dark look.

The problem was solved. The nine kids – fourteen if those mischievous Knox boys were over – piled into the giant bed and fell asleep using each other as pillows. The kids never complained about waking up in strange positions, such as when Chris awoke to Jared cutting off his circulation by sleeping on his arm, his sisters using his chest as a pillow, and Noah's foot in his face.

At the end of June, Mary's sister Diane came to visit. She'd never married and never had children, lived in England, and would be staying with them for a week.

Diane didn't last two days.

She was pompous and full of herself, and seemed to have her nose permanently stuck up in the air.

The kids hated her.

Not only did she treat them like they were babies, she took personal offense to the fact the children ran around barefoot, the boys often bare-chested. She tried to wrestle the girls into dresses ("Dresses, Grandmama! Eeeeeeeeew!") and in revenge, the girls did their damndest to roll around in the mud during football games and cops and robbers, tear up the knees of their stockings, scuff up their shoes, and "accidentally" rip off the lace on their clothing (when really, it was the boys doing that, and with a certain amount of glee.)

Diane left at dawn on the second day.

John, Mary, and the kids built a bonfire out back and roasted hot dogs and S'mores in celebration. John told them ghost stories – _real _ones from actual hunts he'd been on – as well as battle stories and legends of Scottish ancestry.

Paige bit down into her s'more. The marshmallow melted out the sides, dripping onto her hand and smearing her cheeks. She wiped her face to get rid of the smear, only half-paying attention, most of her attention on her grandpa. It spread the smear further, from the corner of her lips to her ear. She didn't notice.

"Whatsa blackdog?" Summer whispered, leaning further into Paige's side, who was leaning into Noah's. Connie was leaning into Summer's and Jared into hers. Noah had his arm around Paige's shoulders, s'more forgotten in his hand as he listened to the story.

"I dunno," Paige whispered back.

"It's a dog that's black," Connie said, with great authority.

Jared snorted and Paige giggled.

"No duh," Paige whispered, grinning over at her friend. She snuggled closer to Noah, soaking up his warmth. In truth, since Summer was practically in her lap, she was warm and cozy anyhow.

"And then," her grandpa said, leaning forward, "it _lunged _at me, claws extended…"

The children gasped as if on cue, eyes going wide as saucers.

"Did it eat you?" Claire wondered, voice awestruck.

"If it ate him he wouldn't be here, dummy," Elliot called, rolling his eyes.

"Don't call her a dummy," Chris said, loudly, pulling their baby sister into his side.

"…and bit down on my shoulder," John continued in a much louder voice.

Paige. "Oh, grandpapa, that's pitiful," she wailed. She spun to Noah. "Noah, isn't that pitiful?"

Noah noticed the smudge of marshmallow on her cheek. "I dunno," he supplied, reaching out to scrub at it. It didn't help; it was sticky and covered his fingers now, too.

"I think it's pitiful too," Jared announced, grinning. "Hear that, grandpa? Paigie things you're pitiful!"

"Shut up, Jared! I do not!" Paige shouted, reaching over Summer and Connie to smack him hard enough to leave a mark.

"…and I shot it in the face with rock salt," John said, eyes sparkling as he winked at his wife.

"Grandpapa, Chris is being mean!" Summer, Connie, and Paige shouted in unison.

John gave up. While the boys had been enthralled in the story, they were now enthralled in watching Paige beat up Chris. He really should put a stop to it, but God's truth, it was funny. Kids, he mused, had the patience of a gnat.

"Be nice," he suggested.

"I don't _like _being nice," Jared announced in a shout.

"Girls don't like mean boys!" Summer announced matter-of-factly.

"What does that even mean?" Chris wondered aloud, shooting her a puzzled expression.

Shoulders shaking with laughter, John dropped his face into his hands. He looked up just in time to see Jared smash his graham cracker halves, smeared with melted marshmallow and chocolate, into Paige's face.

The fight began.

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><p><strong>EN**: Just so you know…this was REALLY fun to write. Like, _really _fun. Hope you enjoyed! :D

**Reviews=LOVE  
>:D<strong>


	5. Calm Before the Storm

**A/N**: Aaaaaaaand, the cutness continues! Thanks to all of those who have marked as favorites, fav authors, and reviewed! I appreciate it. Drop me a note, though, seriously – more reviews = faster updates!

**Disclaimer**: Again, seeing as this chap involves no Winchesters, I own. ALL. OF. IT. Got it? ;D

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><p><strong>CHAPTER FIVE<br>**Operation Tomboy

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming**  
><em>July 1989<em>

John Newbern spun frantically, trying to see around his armful of food, not trip, and find little Katie all at the same time. "Katiebug!" he hollered, searching for the elusive two-year-old. The child – younger daughter of Bill and Karen Brennan and Connie's baby sister – had been dropped off yesterday morning and had proved since then to be just as cunning as her seven-year-old sister. Which was saying something, as the kid could barely walk a straight line without tipping to one side.

A mop of dark hair disappeared behind the couch.

"There, Noah!" he called, pointing with his chin.

Noah, who had been trailing behind John, launched himself over the couch with the grace of an older brother long used to catching his elusive prey, and emerged a few seconds later with the giggling, curly-haired girl tucked safely under his arm like a football.

"Thank you," John sighed, smiling at Noah over his mountain of sweet potatoes.

"No problemo, grandpapa," Noah replied, winking. John shook his head. No lad his age should have such cheek. He could already envision women throwing themselves at his feet when the time came. With his broad shoulders, big hands, large feet, and already considerable size (for an eleven year old, that is), he was sure to be tall in adulthood.

And, therefore, more difficult for Mary to whack over the head with a spoon.

Somehow, though, John doubted she'd have much trouble keeping him in line. When she was present, anyhow. Freed from the restrictions of constantly having to keep an eye on his younger siblings, he'd let loose and proved himself the most mischievous of the lot.

He headed outside to set the Crockpot – full of Mary's famous homemade chili for the Fourth of July barbeque – on the floor of the driver's side, being sure it was secure. She would have his head if he spilled so much as a drop, and God help him then.

Tracking down Katie was easy – Noah had somehow had the foresight to trap her in the playpen with the toy box shoved up against the gate. He scooped the little girl up, nuzzling that rosy round cheek and smoothing his hand over the ruffles of her red-white-and-blue American Flag dress, before attempting to tame the riot of thick brown curls on her head. He gave up and just put her in her car seat, closing the door firmly while he went to the back to check on the horses. All four of them were safely secured inside the trailer hitched to the back of his pick-up.

Nudging his Stetson up with one finger, he scratched his forehead. What in the world was taking them so long to get ready? At this point, they'd probably miss the damn parade. He sighed gustily and checked his watch.

"C'mon kids!" he bellowed in the direction of the house. Mary had already left for town with most of the food, leaving him with the children and not a hint of mercy over throwing him to the (cute-and-dimple-cheeked) wolves.

The back door flew open with a bang, and out swarmed the horde and source of his ever-present headache, Noah and Chris at the front with Kyle a half-step behind.

"Shoes," he bellowed, rolling his eyes, as he'd immediately observed every last one of them were barefoot. He hid a grin as the children abruptly veered back for the house, disappearing with the same suddenness as they'd appeared.

Nearly five minutes later they emerged again, looking like proper children for a change – fully clothed, shoes on their feet, and not a fleck of mud in sight. They were dressed identically, a fact he found endearing, in dark blue jeans, ropers, long-sleeved blue plaid collared shirts, wide black belts, and Black Stetsons. The girls' hair was braided, but other than that, they could have been fifteen-tuplets (if that even existed, which he seriously doubted because who the hell wanted to have that many kids at once?).

"Will there be fireworks, Grandpapa?" Noah and Chris gasped in unison as they came to stops so suddenly beside him they swayed on their feet.

John had given up long ago attempting to explain he was not, in fact, Noah's grandfather, or the grandfather of anybody else save Paige, Chris, and Claire, for that matter. As far as the children were concerned, he was Grandpapa John, and that was that.

"It's Fourth of July," he said with a hearty chuckle. As if that would mean anything to the kids. Their current obsession was questioning things to death, often to the point where he considered banging their heads together (not that he ever actually _would_, of course). "Of course there will be fireworks. That's kind of the point."

"The point of what?" Paige piped up, skidding to a halt between Noah and Chris, beaming up at him with her adorable dimples.

"Fourth of July," John said, swinging the three of them up into the truck bed before they had ample time to formulate a let's-question-grandpapa-to-death marathon.

"Big ones?" she wondered as she settled between Noah and Kyle.

"The biggest," he promised, chuckling as Connie climbed up him in her haste to get in the back. "Easy there, tiger," he told her. "One at a time."

Connie stuck her tongue out at him but promised to be more patient in the figure. Yeah, right. And tomorrow, pigs would sprout wings and fly.

By the time fifteen were all loaded, his back was aching. God bless the Knox boys for climbing up themselves. He would have probably snapped a disk in his back if he'd had to heft their considerable growing frames to the back.

"No standing or we won't go," he reminded them sternly, giving each a pointed look. They nodded meekly, sitting perfectly still.

John sighed and hopped in, keeping a close eye on them in the rearview mirror. It took ten minutes to get into town, and then all they did was point excitedly, apparently taking his threat to heart.

"Grandpapa," Chris shouted through the window, "how come we've got the horses?"

"Parade," he called back, slowing into traffic (all four cars) waiting to turn into the rodeo grounds.

"Parade!" came the delighted reply.

The dirt lot beside the rodeo grounds was bustling with activity. He parked and lifted the kids down, realizing with a sense of dread that other than the braids sported by the girls, he couldn't tell them apart. Great.

"Stay close," he ordered, holding Katelyn on his hip and seizing Cole's wrist in his other, heading for Main Street and the Fourth of July celebration fair/parade/rodeo going on.

Thunder Creek had gone all out for the occasion. Every shop had festive decorations and banners. The street lamps had been adorned with intricate red-white-and-blue bows. Streamers crisscrossed the length of the street, stung out between the buildings to flutter in the breeze. The usual folks had set up stands of food and goodies and games for entertainment for the children.

Many of the townspeople waved and grinned at the image of the grandson of Thunder Creek's founder marching down the street with fifteen children trailing behind like identical ducklings.

Peter Knox grinned at he trotted across the street, spotting his five offspring – miraculously dressed and clean of face – with John. "Afternoon, y'all," he called, and the duckling formation broke as he sons broke rank and ran for him. He grinned down at his five dark-haired sons and the rest of the rowdy bunch. "You mindin' your great-uncle well?"

"Always, Papa," Jared announced with a cheeky grin.

Pete didn't believe it for a minute. However, with five sons, he had adopted the philosophy that his sons were not _terrors_. They were _resourceful_ and _imaginative _and _creative_. Boys would be boys, after all, and his boys enjoyed fire and pointy objects.

John scooped up little Katelyn and gave each child a long, level look. "Go off and play, get snacks, run around like the little monkeys you are, and do try not to set anything on fire. Quiet, Noah, Chris!" The glare he pointed their way was affectionate, not angry. "If you'd like to ride in the parade, be back here by three. Got it?"

And with that, the horde was off at a sprint to terrorize the fair. Thankfully, Thunder Creek was a small town (everybody knew everybody else, and everyone's business as well, the curse of small towns) and he knew the children were safe. That being said, they knew the children, and were prepared for the worst. He trusted the townspeople to make sure they didn't get too much sweets and soda before the barbeque that would start at four. Fireworks would start after sunset.

The children were in heaven.

Sum'n'Paige'n'Con got practically sugar wasted on all the treats and proceeded to tear through all the games and activities with the force of a dimple-cheeked tornado.

Not a soul was surprised when Noah dominated the shooting contest (that boy had practically been born with a gun in his hand), even if it was just with small bb's and bottles. The prize – a giant brown teddy bear – he gave to a beaming Summer with a grin and a brotherly kiss on her forehead.

Noah had taken to the habit of following the girls around. This way, he could put a stop to whatever disaster they were undoubtedly starting. So, by default, Chris and Kyle followed him, and in turn followed the girls.

Paige was frustrated. She couldn't throw high enough to reach the top hoop on the Basketball booth, the hoop she needed to get the stuffed lion, and she really wanted the stuffed lion. She was just about to throw the last ball on the ground when a strong, warm hand gripped her wrist.

"Here," Noah said gently, guiding her hand higher, giving her the extra strength needed. The ball soared upwards in a perfect arc and whooshed through the net with a ding that announced she'd won. Jay Rawlings grinned, shook his head, and handed over the prize to the girl.

She accepted the lion and hugged it tightly before throwing her arm around Noah's neck and kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you, Noah!" she beamed, before darting off again.

Noah shook his head, grinned wistfully, and went on to dominate another game.

The boys didn't mind being followed around by the girls. In fact, they displayed such patience even John was surprised. They never got cross or angry or frustrated; instead, willingly showed the little ones how to properly hold a baseball bat and catch a Frisbee, never once attempting to disclude the girls from their games.

Connie caused a minor mishap by setting one of Main Street's trees on fire with her sparklers. It was immediately doused by the nearest firefighter. (They'd gotten used to the girl's uncanny ability to practically set fires with her mind, she did it often, and in preparation they'd strategically placed buckets beside anything remotely flammable just in case.)

John and the parade riders had the horses tacked and ready and were forming the formation when the horde rushed in the gate, tripping all over each other in their haste.

Thunder Creek's cowboy parade-rider population made quick work of lifting the children – their number now somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty-one (the original nine had a tendency to draw children together like flies to honey) – up to their horse's backs.

John himself settled Paige in the saddle behind him and Summer before him. Connie could hardly protest being separated from her friends, as she rode before the rider directly to John's right, barely two feet away.

Summer sat wide-eyed. She'd never been on a horse before, and therefore, was surprised by how high off the ground they were. When she pried one of her hands off the saddle horn to gently touch the hair of its reddish neck, she discovered that they were as soft as velvet, too, and warm.

The parade was fun-filled and lively, with prancing, whickering horses, chuckling cowboys, and laughing children. The mothers of said children were going crazy, beaming as wide as the children as they snapped picture after picture after picture. It was over too quickly for many of the children, but their disappointment was forgotten as the barbeque started in the park at the town's center. The town packed into the park, a mulling mass of bodies, voices a cacophony of laughter and chatter as the people mingled and the children streaked barefoot and screaming with laughter through the crowd.

It took John the better part of twenty minutes, but he tracked down his charges and dragged them to the nearest free table with their plates piled high with BBQ pulled-pork sandwiches, French fries, fruit, corn on the cob, baked beans, mashed potatoes, honeyed rolls, hamburgers, and hot dogs.

Unlike most girls, Sum'n'Paige'n'Con dug in with unbridled gusto, and same as the boys, ended up with food all over their faces.

The town watched in amusement as, by some miracle, John managed to keep the children relatively under control. They weren't throwing food, at least, which was a blessing.

By sundown, the kids could barely contain their excitement. They bounced up and down – literally – with energy, energy John blamed mostly on the gigantean amounts of sugar they'd eaten all day. Like half-crazed monkeys, they ran through the streets, gleefully waving sparklers (Chris took special care to keep Connie away from any-and-all-things-flammable) and sporting glow sticks, playing tag and hide and seek and cops n' robbers and any other games they could think of while the sun began its slow descent for the horizon.

The fireworks show stunned them into stillness as the bright lights filled the heavens, the thunder drowning out all noise. Sparklers pointed to the ground, forgotten, as the children stared up with slack jaws as the awesome display above. They quickly regained themselves and whooped and cheered between the massive booms while their parents watched from seats around the bonfires, holding the littlest ones close.

The party stretched past midnight, and despite their protests, John loaded them back into the truck and took them home.

Every last one of them was asleep by the time he pulled into the driveway. He woke the elder ones and carried the little ones, removing clothes for pajamas and stacking Stetsons neatly in the closet. He was just tucking the blanket around them – he'd settled them in a somewhat line for a change instead of the mulling mass of limbs – when a warm hand squeezed his fingers.

Summer was blinking up at him, hazel eyes round and bright. "Grandpapa," she whispered as he bent closer to hear her, "that was the best party _ever_."

"It was," he agreed softly, sweeping the hair off her brow and planting a gentle kiss on her smooth skin. "Go to sleep now, little one."

He tucked the sheet around her.

"Mmkay," Summer murmured, rolling over to snuggle into Kyle's side.

John stood in the doorway and clicked off the light, watching them all snuggle up together. Angles protecting angels, he thought, as Summer whimpered in her sleep and Kyle pulled her unconsciously closer as Noah snuggled up on her other side.

"Innocents protecting innocents," Mary murmured gently from beside him.

"Indeed," he agreed with a yawn, pulling her into his side. "Let's sleep, love. I'm tired."

John led his wife to bed, calm in the assurance he'd seen all there was to see from these kids.

Boy, was he wrong.

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><p><strong>EN**: Next one is Dean and Sammy, in Wee!form. Hehe. ;)

**Reviews=LOVE  
>:D<strong>


	6. Operation Tomboy

**A/N**: Expanding on last chapter as Ally joins the mix… in Wee!form, of course. :D

**Disclaimer**: No Winchesters (I lied, next chappie…sorry…) same as the last. Bwahahaha.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER SIX<br>**Operation Tomboy

**Thunder Creek, WY**  
><em>Summer 1989<em>

On the seventh of July, the year of our Lord 1989, a whole new terror came to the rolling hills of Thunder Creek, Wyoming.

John was in the kitchen marinating the steaks they were having for dinner. The children were outside playing slip-n'-slide with a tarp and the hose, and currently looked like wild children. Barefooted, bare-chested (the girls in bikini tops), with sticks in their hair and mud covering every inch of their skin, he couldn't tell them apart if his life depended on it. Every last one looked like they'd just stepped off auditions for Tarzan and Jane, minus the loincloths.

There wasn't much that distracted the ruffians from their mud slip n' slide and mud football, but the scene that came next certainly did.

Mud games stopped abruptly when the children spotted a shiny, gleaming white limo rolling up the drive, a cloud of dust in its wake. It was a sight Paige, Chris, and Claire were used to – in Malibu. Not Wyoming.

"I thought papa wasn't coming till August," Paige said, brow wrinkling in confusion, her voice breaking the sudden silence.

"He's not," Chris observed, squinting at the approaching vehicle. "That's not our limo. Ours are black."

"Oh," she said in a small voice.

"Dats Uncle Tony's!" Claire cried suddenly, making them all jump.

Chris absently pulled a twig from her hair and patted her unruly curls. "I think Clairebear is right," he said.

"How come Uncle Tony is here?" Paige wondered.

"I dunno," he answered, waving for them to be quiet. They all watched as the vehicle came to a halt and the driver got out, dressed in an impeccable suit. The driver blinked and stared at the pack of ruffians, scanning them from top to bottom. All he could tell was rough hair color. Other than that, they were a bunch of mud monkeys.

"Oh my," he said, blushing slightly when he realized he'd said that aloud.

The tallest boy, a blonde-haired blue-eyed devil with mischief in his eyes, had raised his eyebrows as if daring the driver with his gaze to say another word. (Yes, even at age eleven, Noah could intimidate grown men into silence. It was a gift.)

"Miss Allyson Nicole Baraldi and her young brother, Jeremy Joseph," he announced in a carrying voice, grasping the door handle.

Noah shared a look with the rest of the kids. Paige and Chris were the only ones who did not look appalled, in fact, from the moment they heard the names they looked very much as if they'd like to run inside.

Out from the limo stepped two fair-skinned, pale children. The girl was in a white satin short-sleeved dress that screamed Gucci, grey tights embroidered with the Gucci logo, and gold ballerina style shoes with flower detail, hair curled into ringlets around her alabaster cheeks. The boy, who looked to be about four, was in khaki slacks rolled at the ankle, a white collared shirt under a brown-and-tan-checkered sweater, and sneakers with the same checkered pattern as his shirt.

Chris privately thought the Baraldi kids, as usual, looked like they belonged in a clothing advertisement. (Dad always said their grandmother, their daddy's daddy, was obsessed with turning the kids into mini-models.)

Upon seeing the group of children, Allyson stuck her nose up in their air.

"Charles," she demanded in a shrill, bossy tone. "_Who _are they?" She pointed directly at Noah.

Noah's eyes flashed. "Didn't your parents ever teach you it is rude to point?" he snapped nastily.

Allyson ignored him and demanded Charles "take them away".

It was the immediate opinion of the group that she was stuck-up, snobby, and annoying; Paige, on the other hand, was appalled by the change in her bestedest friend (besides Summer and Connie), who she hadn't seen in over a year.

"They're yucky," Allyson insisted, stamping her foot on the packed earth.

John totted down the steps just in time to hear the girl's last comment. He'd known Baraldi was sending his children, just not this soon. Apparently the hunt had gone south, and as the only one currently in TC, he'd been reduced to permanent babysitter – and damned if he knew how _that _had happened, but there would be some serious ass-whooping when the group returned and relieved him of their rambunctious burden.

From this angle, he could see Noah's face perfectly well. (The mud hid his facial expression, but he'd know those eyes anywhere.)

Oh, no. He knew that look. The ever-dreaded I'm-going-to-do-what-I-want-and-damned-the-consequences look.

Uh-oh.

_Danger, danger! _chanted his mind's inner mantra. He quickened his pace, but alas, not quick enough.

Noah grinned, throwing Allyson off guard. She paused mid-wail to stare at him, and taking advantage of her silence and distraction, he bent down, scooped up to handfuls of mud, and smeared one down her face and the other down her dress.

Allyson sucked in a massive breath and promptly started screaming like a banshee.

Flashing a shit-eating grin, Noah raced off with the rest of the kids a half-step behind.

John's face was bright red from suppressed laughter when he greeted the Baraldi children and ushered them inside.

The effort of not-laughing was painful, but he managed, even as Allyson continued to wail like a deranged serial killer.

Really…he should get an award for this.

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><p>Breakfast the next morning could only be described as a nightmare. The usual chatter filled the kitchen, that is, until Ally walked in.<p>

Silence fell as the kids exchanged glances.

"Good morning, sweetie," Mary said. She was a little taken aback when Ally stuck up her nose, crossed her arms, and made a _hmph_ noise. "Take a seat."

Ally glanced around the table. Every pair of eyes was on her, not a one of them friendly. Paige – usually her bestest friend, even sister – was still affronted over being called "yucky" and was ignoring her. Even Chris didn't look particularly happy to see her.

She ended up between a little blonde boy and Claire, the only two not glaring at her.

John – who had masqueraded as a short-order cook on a hunt long ago – was making his family-favorite French Toast, eggs, sausage, and bacon.

That was what got the ball rolling.

Allyson didn't like eggs, because they were runny and _yucky_.

Allyson didn't like French Toast, because the recipe included eggs.

Allyson didn't like her milk, because it came from a glass bottle (straight from the cow, no less) and not a plastic one and therefore tasted yucky.

Allyson didn't like the fruit, either (home grown) because it didn't taste "good".

The child, John concluded, didn't like anything or anybody save herself, and was the most cynical, narcissistic, negative person he'd ever met – and she was _seven_. He was beginning to get the strong personal feeling that _she _was "yucky", as she so aptly put. The damn kid was determined to hate everything about everything, and man, was she a downer.

Paige had the same impression. The old Ally was fun and nice, but now she was snotty and mean. She knew Ally had spent time with her mommy's parents, who according to her papa were "old-fashioned" and needed to shut the front door, which she didn't understand because the front door was always shut…

Noah withheld himself – and had to withhold Kyle – from dumping milk over her pompous, stuck-up, designer-clothes-wearing little head.

Allyson whined and complained all through breakfast, the table uncharacteristically quiet. It compared to nails on a chalkboard, and her high-pitched voice wasn't helping. She was wailing loud enough to wake the dead. Claire invited her to play, to which she replied she most certainly would not, because it wasn't proper and she might get dirt on her dress or her pretty gold shoes.

The kids exchanged glances again.

As soon as they were outside (Allyson and Jeremy _inside _playing a board game – "What lameos," Chris proclaimed – they gathered in a circle in the arena.

"I have a plan," Noah announced without preamble, immediately gaining the full, undivided attention of his sibs.

"What for?" Paige asked curiously, hopping onto the fence rail. Everyone joined her, Noah straddling the fence facing her.

"Allyson," he said simply, nearly being drowned out by the chorus of loud groans. "We don't like her the way she is – "

" – I do!" Paige cut him off, glaring, feeling obligated to defend her friend.

"No, you don't." Noah gave her a hard look to shut her up before continuing. "She seems pretty lonely to me. Maybe her grandparents turned her into a raving shrew."

"What's a shrew?" Connie wondered, brow furrowing.

Noah ignored her and continued. "I propose Operation Tomboy," he said with an authoritative nod.

Summer looked from Paige to Noah and back again, not comprehending. "How?"

A slow grin spread across Noah's face.

The kid's didn't know – not yet – but in time, they would learn to fear that smile. For even at eleven years old, Noah was far more perceptive than any human being should be.

* * *

><p>John was convinced they were all possessed by demons.<p>

God knew he was a patient man, hell, even a gentle one. Mostly. But honest to God, at his age, there was a limit to what he could take.

And that limit had a name.

CLAYBORNE.

Oh, he had no proof, of course. But his gut was telling him that Noah David Clayborne was at least partway – if not fully – responsible for the _new _chaos in his home.

It had been chaotic before.

Now, it was World War III.

If John hadn't known the boy _literally _since the day he was born, he would have easily believed the children – the so-called sweet and innocent children, his beautiful grandbabies – were trying to kill Allyson Nicole Baraldi.

One week, the girl and her brother had been with them.

In that week, Noah and the other had been attempting to turn Allyson from city girl to mudmonkey, and not in a nice way at all, at least not from Allyson's point of view.

Thus far, they had:

Chased her in the tractor (piloted by Connie, of course).

Tackled her into the mud (she hated mud and all things to do with mud or dirt in general).

Locked her in the pig sty (the mama pig had almost ripped her to pieces before she was rescued by John's stable hand Gary).

Ganged up on her fourteen to one in a water-balloon fight (she'd looked like a drowned rat).

Connie had pretended to curse her and scared her half to death (Connie was in a bit of a witch phase at the moment.)

Noah had given her gold shoes to his herd dogs as chew-toys. (They were unrecognizable).

And last but not least, they – meaning Noah and Connie – had torn up and thrown out, burned, and/or flushed all her dresses and fancy clothes items down the toilet.

* * *

><p>After pondering it for a long while, John's conclusions were as follows:<p>

Noah's goal was to turn Ally from city-girl to Tomboy by harassing her until the Italian temper he _knew _she possessed broke free and she fought back, and realized she could fit in with them just fine, as he had concluded she was lonely (and he was right).

Paige's goal was to keep Connie from setting stuff on fire.

Summer's goal was to keep Kyle from breaking something else while helping Paige.

Kyle's goal was to keep Connie from killing Ally.

Ally's goal: don't die.

His goal, to try not to die laughing…or in a barn fire. (Connie had set two more in the last week.)

Damn, these kids were wearing him out. However (not that he'd admit it, of course) it was a damn lot of fun watching Allyson slowly extending her claws, claws she had no idea she'd possessed.

* * *

><p>Allyson was terrified of the horde. That's what she called them. They weren't people, oh no, they were animals. Vicious, bloodthirsty, evil animals.<p>

Just this morning, Noah had learned she hated oatmeal, and naturally, had decided it was a good idea to shove the said revolting substance down her shirt. Then, they'd chased her into the cornfield (claiming they were trying to teach her how to navigate one) and had gotten her helplessly lost, to the point where she'd needed to be rescued by John.

She hated them.

And, deep down, she was envious of them.

When they weren't paying attention to her, she took time to study them. Her parents had been traveling a lot lately, and she and Jeremy had been stuck at their grandparents' house. Her grandma and grandpa were stuffy and opinionated and not very nice. They didn't even hug, and had taken away her dollies and her favorite stuffed doggy, Fly. She was starving for attention, and couldn't help but notice how the horde acted around each other.

Sum'n'Paige'n'Con had their feet on the ground most of the time; when they didn't, it was because they were on the backs of one of the older boys for a piggyback ride. They held hands and hugged and touched each other constantly, not in a weird way, more in a way they were so familiar with each other's company that they did it without realizing what they were doing.

And John wasn't anything like her Grandpa Bulicz… he was tall, and scruffy, and he had a really tan face and white teeth that flashed every time he smiled, and crinkles around his eyes every time he smiled, and he smelled like soap and leather and she really, really wanted to see what his whiskers felt like.

Allyson sniffed pitifully. She'd taken refuge in the office. The others rarely came in here, and night had since fallen. She rolled her thin shoulders in the oversized T-shirt John had found for her, clutching tighter at the abandoned stuffed bear she'd found in the attic a few days ago. When everything went quiet, she crept softly up the stairs, praying that the horde would leave her alone.

She paused at the cracked door, creeping as close as she dared to peer through the crack.

The horde was sitting on a giant king-sized bed, all of them leaning in a mish-mosh pile of togetherness, snuggled deep into blankets. Noah was sitting cross-legged facing them, his back to the door and a book on his lap, reading them a story.

"…Jor-El and Lara's baby son Kal-El traveled to earth, and Krypton was destroyed forever," Noah was saying, voice pitching and deepening as he weaved the tale he was telling. "That spacecraft made it all the way to Kansas, to crash-land in a field in Smallville. There it was found by a kind couple named Jonathan and Martha Kent, who adopted the little boy as their own and named him Clark…"

Allyson scooted closer, fascinated as Noah weaved the tale of the glorious, mighty Superman. She'd never heard of him before, not ever. When Noah snapped the book shut, she sank away hastily as the children groaned.

"Just a little more, Noah," Summer pleaded. "Please?"

"Not tonight," Noah said, yawning as he settled the book on the bedside table. "I'll continue tomorrow."

Allyson scooted off to her own bed, dreams filled with red and blue soaring aliens saving the world.

* * *

><p>Allyson listened to the story every night for three days, utterly fascinated. She wanted to know more, but was too afraid to ask. More accurately, she was too afraid of Noah, which at that moment had her skirting around the mud-pit they'd crated to play mud-football, hoping he wouldn't tackle her. Again.<p>

Noah smirked at her, and gathered up two handfuls of mud, starting towards her.

Something in her just _snapped_.

With speed surprising for her size, she bent down, scooped up to handfuls of mud, and flung them at Noah with a fierce, "STOP DOING THAT!"

Noah froze at her bellow, looking from the mud splattering his bare chest to the fierce little tiger glaring so defiantly up at him. A slow smile spread across his face, making his eyes sparkle as dead silence fell in the yard.

"Well," he mused with a laugh, "it's about damn time!"

Ally blinked, confused, as the other kids cheered and swarmed around her, splattering her with as much mud as they were splattered in.

An important lesson was learned that day – that one, mud didn't kill anyone, and two, what they did to her…it was perfectly okay to do back.

* * *

><p>Noah knew Ally was in the doorway listening, even though he couldn't see her. She had been doing this for a while, even now that Operation Tomboy had been declared a success and Ally seemed to have forgotten all about dresses and lace and girly stuff and been fully accepted into the group.<p>

So, he half turned and looked right at her. "There's room on the bed, you know," he said mildly.

Ally, scarcely daring to hope, darted into the room and up onto the bed beside Chris, who didn't even look at her when he tugged her under the coverers and into his side between him and Paige. She blushed a little but smiled at Paige.

"Welcome back," Paige giggled, ruffling her hair. "You were gone for a while."

"I know," Ally said, beaming. "You guys got me back."

Chris smiled down at her, and Ally relaxed, listening to Noah's voice continue to weave the story. And when the lights went out and everyone fell asleep, John happened across the group, smiling at the way the mop-headed little girl was snuggled in just as earnestly as the rest of them.

Noah Clayborne, he mused, was a damned diabolical genius.

* * *

><p>That summer, the girls' acronym was changed. It was no longer Sum'n'Paige'n'Con.<p>

It was Sum'n'Paige'n'Con'n'Al.

And they loved it that way.

* * *

><p>Noah and the boys doubled their efforts to protect the girls from the world. Or the world from the girls. At the moment, nobody was quite sure.<p>

As it turned out, Allyson was just as devious as the rest of them...but unlike Connie, Paige and Summer (who had the subtlety of a jackhammer or an airhorn), she was damned _sneaky_.

His father had always told him it was the quiet ones you had to watch out for.

As it turned out, his dad was right.

She set stuff on fire almost as often as Connie.

But that was okay.

They always had buckets just in case.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Okay, I lied. The NEXT one will have Dean/Sammy. Wee!form, adorable, and feeling abandoned. *tear*


	7. Mothers and Tomato Rice Soup

**A/N**: WEE!CHESTERS! *squeee* Enjoy. Also, reviews would be great, people. Yeesh… Thank you to Rifle53, Irish Ghost, lisa, Zampers, Bandit, and TheChosenBetrayer. You guys rock!

Also, special thanks to Irish Ghost. I attribute you to my sanity. *gives cookies* Thank you so much!

_**Side note**_: This jumps ahead to Dec '89… next chapter will go back to Paige in summer of '89. Just so you don't get too confused.

**Disclaimer**: I only wish I owned the Winchester boys...

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER SEVEN<strong>  
>Mothers and Tomato Rice Soup<p>

_December 1989_

Dean Winchester shivered slightly and curled into a tighter ball, staring across the motel room at the opposite bed. Sammy, his seven-year-old little brother, was curled up in his pillows and mound of blankets, warm and content. It was freezing outside, snowing last time he checked, and they didn't have enough blankets in the room and the heater was busted.

He shivered harder and curled tighter, tucking the edges of his thin blanket around him. He'd given the rest to Sammy when he'd noticed him shivering. Usually he would curl up in bed with him, but Sammy had been sick, and he didn't want to get sick, too.

Puffing out a frustrated breath, he switched to looking at the door. Dad had been gone for a week, with no word when he was coming home. The wad of cash he'd been given was dwindling quickly, and soon, he'd have to steal for their dinners, and that was dangerous. What if he got caught? But Sammy was sick, and he needed as much soup as Dean could find.

Fighting back frustrated tears, Dean burrowed deeper into his pillow – one of the only things he'd been allowed to carry around with him from place to place (it was clean and didn't smell gross).

Somehow, he managed to fall asleep despite the cold, wishing that his dad would come home soon.

He was sick of this place.

* * *

><p>"Dean?"<p>

Dean huffed out a frustrated breath (he'd been doing that a lot lately) and continued to stir the tomato rice soup, not turning to look at his baby brother. He knew Sam would be at the table, wrapped up in a blanket, sniffing bleary-eyed and flushed of face. And he didn't want his brother to see the tear leaking out of the corner of his eye. He'd bothered his dad for weeks to give him mom's recipe, and now instead of her making it for Sam, he was.

He hated it when Sammy was sick, even if it was just a cold.

"What, Sammy?" he replied.

"How come we don't have a mommy? Everybody else at school does. They call me weird cuz I don't."

Oh, the dreaded question. Dean gulped and squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to banish the image of his mother, on the ceiling, _burning… screaming_… shaking his head Dean forced himself to think of other things.

"She died," he said shortly, hoping Sam would keep it at that, angrily sticking his finger in the soup. The soup was almost hot enough.

Sam's lip wobbled as he studied his brother's stiff shoulders and rigid posture. "How?" he mumbled.

"Car crash," Dean snapped, ignoring the burning in his throat at the lie. Sam did _not _need to know about anything evil, no way. Not his baby brother. Not yet. Hopefully, not ever.

"Oh," Sam said softly, sniffing pitifully as he sneezed. Still, Dean forced himself not to turn around. He'd take one look at those puppy dog eyes and spill out everything in his heart to Sammy.

The urge to comfort overcame his silence. "It was an accident, Sammy," he whispered. _An accident with a demon…_

Sam rubbed his eyes to scrub away the tears and nodded, even though Dean couldn't see him. "Was she nice?" he wondered.

Dean stiffened again halfway through pouring the soup into a bowl. He forced himself to continue scooping most of the broth into Sammy's bowl – his throat hurt and the broth would go down easy – and struggled for a response.

"Yeah, Sammy," he said finally. "She was nice. She had the pretties smile I ever saw, and her eyes were the prettiest color in the world. Every night she'd lift me up so I could say good night to you in your crib. When I was sick, she used to make me tomato rice soup and sing to me, and…" he trailed off as the tears choked his throat. He cleared it quickly. "She loved you, Sammy. Very, very much. She died…" he stopped himself from finishing that sentence. _She died trying to protect you._

"Do you miss her?" Sam wondered, perching his chin on his fist. He'd never known his mom, but Dean seemed really close to her. Sometimes Dean would sneak into his dad's journal and grab the picture of the four of them, running his index finger gently over her face and crying when he thought Sam wasn't watching.

"Every day," Dean said as he brought the bowls to the table. He slapped a spoon into Sam's hand. "Now eat your dinner. I'll go get your medicine."

Sam watched him disappear into the bathroom and looked down at the soup, taking a careful whiff. It smelled amazing. He tried a bite and smiled. Tasted amazing, too. Eating carefully because of his sore throat, he tucked into his dinner and waited for his brother to come back.

Good thing his ears were plugged...because he didn't hear his older brother's muffled sobs on the other side of the bathroom door.

* * *

><p>Dean wasn't a stupid kid. He read every book he could get his hands on, simply for the reason that by reading as much as he could about everything, he could tell Sam the right answer when Sam would eventually ask him a particular question.<p>

Sam was a pretty inquisitive kid, and just as smart as Dean. Any question he had, Dean would be ready with an intelligent answer, be it geometry or reading or spelling tests.

But there was one thing Sam learned far quicker than all other things.

Never, ever ask Dean questions about mom.

For the simple reason that Sam, young as he was, couldn't bear to see the pain that would flash over the face of his big brother and his own personal hero.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Not sure if Wee!Chesters are in character, but I felt they needed to have this conversation. Poor Dean. *sniffle*


	8. The Definition of Fear

**A/N: **Important part of Noah's character devlops in this one, as well as in Chris and the other boys, and that is: PROTECTIVENESS. Lol. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: *yawn* Do I really need to keep repeating myself...? It grows tiresome...

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER EIGHT<strong>  
>The Definition of "Fear"<p>

**Thunder Creek, WY**  
>Summer '89<p>

Between the late-night storytelling at the bonfires, snuggling up together on the king-sized bed, learning to ride horses barebacked and with saddles, running barefoot through the fields, playing endless games in the mud, catching fireflies, riding tractors, watching movies, and listening to Noah tell stories about Superman, the kids' general opinion was that this had been the best. Summer. EVER.

It was pouring rain outside, and thunder and lightning cracked and rumbled through the prairie. It was the dead of night, but the kids were all awake, clutching each other as the almighty booming shook the house.

"Chris, I'm scared," Paige whispered, pressing herself further against his chest.

Noah glanced down at her, a smile curving his lips. "It's just thunder and lightning, Paigie. Nothing to be afraid of," he whispered, while hugging Ally close to him to comfort her. At this point, everyone was hugging everyone else as the storm raged outside the windows.

"Are you ever scared?" Summer's voice wondered from somewhere in the horde.

He pondered that for a moment. Fear was not something he'd ever pondered long enough to make it into a thought or sentence, let along his vocabulary. His whole life, he'd never been afraid of anything, and he told Summer so.

"You have to be afraid of something," Summer insisted, voice muffled, leading him to conclude she was buried under the covers somewhere to his left.

"Not me," Noah said matter-of-factly.

Soon, very soon, that opinion would change.

* * *

><p>John was beyond exasperated.<p>

He'd gotten up early in the morning, intending to run into town to buy wood to use to build a fort in the giant oak tree that had somehow survived Wyoming's winds. Yawning, he made it all the way to the car before he realized something was wrong.

The left front tire was missing.

So surprised to find this, he hadn't known how to react. Did he scream? Rave? Roar curses to the wind? Ground the children, because he _knew _they were behind it. He'd stormed upstairs to demand explanation, and in a too-innocent voice, Connie had explained they'd used it to make a tire swing on the same oak tree he'd been planning to build a fort.

They were beyond exasperating. He'd firmly ordered them to quite dismantling his appliances (the poor microwave had already suffered at their hands) and to ask him before doing such stupid, reckless things. Damned if he knew how in the hell they managed to get the damn tire off his truck – in truth, he didn't bother trying to figure it out. At this point, he just accepted it. It was less painful that way.

Not that they'd actually listen, but it was worth a try.

Mary had suggested he fashion a rope to one of the trees beside the lake and take them out there to swing into the water, like he'd done as a child, and he agreed that sounded like a very good idea.

The kids were excited, and so, he did just that, while Mary packed a picnic fit for kings and the children raced along ahead with the dogs, shouting all over each other's voices in their excitement.

John had settled on the massive blanket beside his wife to observe them playing and splashing in the water, and dozed off in the warm sunshine while Mary's needles clicked and clacked away.

Noah was showing Cole how to carve sticks into spears they could use to kill fish, and in no time at all, most of the other kids were copying him, using knives "borrowed" from grandpapa's work bench. He was so intent in his task, as were the rest of the boys, that he didn't notice the girls sneaking off to swing on the rope themselves, ignoring the boy's orders not to do that.

It was the barking dogs that alerted Noah that something was wrong. He looked up, to see them frantically barking and jumping through the water, looking torn between jumping in and getting his attention. He frowned and wondered what they were carrying on about.

"What's with Rocky?" Chris wondered from beside him, closing his pocket knife and sticking it in his swim trunk pocket. The stick in his hand was in a razor-sharp spear.

Something was wrong, Noah realized, quickly counting the heads around him as Chris did the same.

It hit both boys in the same second.

Noah whipped to his right to look at Kyle. "Where are Paige and Summer?" he demanded, spotting Connie and Ally joyfully carving symbols into their spear. The dynamic duo was nowhere in sight.

"The dogs!" Chris cried, stick forgotten as he sprinted for the water, Noah and Kyle on his heels. The other children looked confused for a moment, before they realized what must have happened and surged to their feet themselves.

Noah's arms pumped as he sprinted, breath coming in ragged gasps. Damn it, they were so far from the lake! He pushed himself faster, stumbling over the loose shale and rocks on the water's edge, intent on the still-swinging rope. No sign of Paige _or _Summer.

Panic made Noah and Chris' chests tight, breath coming in rapid gasps as their heart rate increased twofold, pounding a frantic pace against their ribcages. Their hands were shaking so badly they appeared to be vibrating, as terror sunk deep into their bones – _where were the girls?_

"Grandpapa, grandmamma, come quick!" Connie bellowed with incredible volume, chasing after the boys.

"PAIGE! SUMMER!" Noah yelled frantically as he neared the tree. The water was rippling softly with the current from the river that fed it only a few feet to their right. He skidded to a halt and looked around; the girls were nowhere in sight, and had they been, would have responded quickly to the panic in his voice.

Without pausing to think it through, Noah and Chris splashed into the shallows, diving in and striking out for the deeper water, pulling their faces out of the murky depths only long enough to breathe before submerging them to start searching again.

Noah dove as deep as he dared, squinting through the gloom as the panic settled deeper. It was his job to protect them, his job to watch over them, his job to keep them safe – he was the oldest of them all, and it was simply his _job_. To protect. To guard. He surged to the surface, aware of Chris and John doing the same, but couldn't think straight.

He sucked in a deep breath and dove again, kicking strongly until his hand grazed the bottom, getting tangled in the weeds. _There! _Something warm. He grabbed it and pulled with desperate strength, wrapping his arms around the form of a girl – who, he had no idea – and kicking up for the surface.

Black edged his vision as he kicked out harder, desperately. Above him he could see the sun breaking through the surface of the water, so close, so close to air… that blackness spread as his limbs started to weaken, lungs burning for air as his heart rate slowed and water filled his nostrils…

A strong hand gripped his arm and pulled him the last three feet to the surface, and Paige along with him. Noah coughed and spluttered and waved off his grandpapa as they were dragged back to shore, keeping his arms locked firmly around the form of the girl. The brunette hair sticking to his chest could only be Summer's.

He relinquished his hold as they reached the beach, sitting numbly and coughing while he watched John doing CPR on Summer and Mary doing CPR on Paige, both of them with blood trickling down their faces from head wounds, while the ranch hands galloped ever-closer, alerted by the sound of John's ear-shattering bellow of sheer terror.

After that, everything went black.

* * *

><p>Never in his life had John been so terrified as when Noah and Chris pulled the still, lifeless forms of Paige and Summer out of the murky depths of the lake. He now sat in the hospital room while Mary comforted all the children in the waiting room…all children but Chris, Kyle, and Noah, who had refused to be parted from the girls.<p>

Chris was asleep on Paige's bed, his head resting beside hers on the pillow, and Kyle had done the same to Summer's bed. Both were desperately afraid to leave their sisters unattended again, lest something like this happen. Noah, on the other hand, had been sitting lifelessly beside him for nearly an hour.

"I failed," Noah whispered hoarsely.

John was surprised. "Failed what?" he wondered gently.

"I'm the oldest. My whole life, my dad taught me it's my job to protect the little ones." He turned tear-filled eyes to John. "I failed, grandpa. They almost died because of me. Because I wasn't there to protect them."

He pulled the boy gently into his side and dropped a gentle kiss to the top of his head. "Noah," he said quietly, "you _saved _them. If it weren't for you and Chris, they would have drowned in that lake."

"I was supposed to watch them!"

"You were busy watching all the other children, Noah. Nobody expects you to be perfect."

Tears streaked down Noah's face as he wrapped his arms around John's waist and buried his face in his side. "They could have died," he choked.

John gently stroked a hand over the boy's white-blonde hair. "They didn't," he said gently, hugging him tightly. "Hush now, little one. You fulfilled your duty as guardian. You saved them, and that's all that matters."

"Summer asked me if I was afraid," Noah whispered, not looking up at him. "I never was, grandpa, not ever. Not until today." He choked back a sob and buried his face deeper into his grandpa's flannel shirt. "Today I was so terrified I couldn't think."

"That's life, son," John whispered, kissing the top of his head again. "You did good."

Noah sniffed. "Grandpa?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I don't like being afraid."

John managed the first smile in hours as he rubbed the boy's back comfortingly. "Me, either, bud."

* * *

><p>Summer came awake slowly, her eyelids heavy and swollen. Her throat felt like it was on fire, her nose and mouth burning with the same intensity as her head throbbed. She blinked, startled by the bright lights above her, blurry as her world slowly came into focus.<p>

She turned her head to the right, to see her sibs sprawled out on chairs, Ally curled up in grandpapa's lap with her head resting on his shoulder.

How had she gotten here? She didn't remember. Turning her head the other direction, she saw Paige resting in the bed beside her, head bandaged and skin pale as the sheets she was resting on. Noah and Chris were slumped on each side of her bed, and Kyle was sleeping with his head on Summer's hand.

Blinking, she struggled to remember. What had happened? Last thing she remembered was swinging on the rope, and then…nothing.

"Summer?"

She looked quickly to Noah, who was staring at her through bleary, red-rimmed eyes.

"I was afraid today."

Frowning, Summer struggled to understand what he was telling her.

"You almost drowned." Noah sniffed. "Why can't you do as you're told, huh?" He smiled a watery smile and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Promise me you'll never do this again."

She nodded.

Noah smiled faintly and sat at her bedside. "Go back to sleep."

Too sleepy to argue, she did just that.

There was now only one thing in the world that Noah David Clayborne was afraid of, and that was losing the people he loved.

He decided there at Paige and Summer's hospital beds that he never wanted to go through this ever again.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Poor Noah. *sniff* Love that guy! Even as an eleven-year-old, he's so damn sweet and awesome and protective that it makes my heart hurt...

**REVIEWS = LOVE**  
>And fast updates...come on, you know you wanna... ;)<p> 


	9. Tears, Fears, and Promises

**A/N: **Part nine... I figure this will be about the length of _Miles Apart, _maybe longer, seeing as its mostly drabble-style bouncing back and forth bewteen Paige and Dean. Their next reunion chatper is coming up; I've got a few more solo Dean and Paige chaps to go before they're back together in TC again... ;)

To those of you who favorite and review - **I LOVE YOU ALL**! *mwah*

To those of you reading this, you're the light of my universe. :D

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER NINE<strong>  
>Tears, Fears, and Promises<p>

**Thunder Creek, WY**  
>August '89<p>

The rest of the summer passed without too many problems, emergencies, freak outs, injuries, panic attacks, or death-defying stunds and/or pranks. Kyle got his cast off halfway through July, and by the end of the next week fell off his horse and fractured his elbow. It wasn't as bad as a break, though, and certainly didn't slow him down a step.

People in town started to comment on the boys' over-protectiveness, too, John noticed, not that they blamed the boys of course, considering what had happened and how traumatizing it had been for all parties involved.

Over-protectiveness was the understatement of the century.

Other kids in town had quickly learned three things:

1. DO NOT MESS WITH THE GIRLS.  
>2. DO NOT MESS WITH THE GIRLS, OR ELSE.<br>3. DO NOT MESS WITH THE GIRLS, OR ELSE NOAH AND CHRIS WILL KICK YOUR ASS.

Everywhere they went, Sum'n'Paige'n'Con'n'Al were shadowed by one or all of Noah, Chris, the Knox boys, and Kyle. As to that, Cole, Jeremy, and Katie never left their sight, either. Under no circumstances were they allowed near bodies of water without being in Noah or Chris or Kyles' presence.

The first week after "The Incident", as it had been dubbed by a half-smiling John, who had recovered but insisted the scare had taken ten years off his life, Noah broke Jay Rawlings' nose when he pushed Paige off the curb and would have broken both his legs, too, if John hadn't seized him by the scruff of his neck and calmed him down with a quiet word and one-armed hug.

Kyle and Chris hogtied David Wentz for stealing Ally's doll and holding it above her head where she couldn't reach it and had dragged him halfway to the water tower before the now-terrified boy was rescued by the trying-very-hard-not-to-pee-his-pants-laughing Sherriff Knox.

Other kids in town teased the girls for various reasons – for hanging out with all boys all the time, for sleeping in the same bed with a bunch of other boys and girls, for never wearing dresses – stupid, trivial things, but all things that had them scared to death of Noah and Chris when the big boys learned of said teasing.

In and around town, the rule was simple: leave the girls the hell alone, or answer to the pack of wolves otherwise known as John Newbern's grandchildren and semi-adopted grandchildren, particularly the grand_sons. _They acted like Alpha wolves protecting their territory, and attacking the girls for any reason was unacceptable, no questions, no exceptions.

Sometimes John honestly wondered if he ought to bring them to a psychologist.

Then again, any psychologist would find them utterly nutty, what with their blabbing on about demons and spirits and how their daddies spent most of their time hunting monsters.

Yeah, _so_ not gonna happen. John would give a lot to see the psychologist's expression, but was not having his grandbabies locked up in a loony bin, no sir.

He loved them just the way they were, flaws and all.

Even when they were punching people's lights out.

* * *

><p>It was a mild summer afternoon in Thunder Creek, and as had become his usual pastime, Noah was following the girls around to make sure they didn't get into trouble. He was wearing jeans and a tank top, with boots and a Stetson on his head to keep off the sun. Everyone smiled and waved, and for the most part, he smiled and waved back. He had to bite back a grin when Jay Rawlings waved at him through the window to his dad's diner, a huge tape piece over his now-broken nose.<p>

Noah felt no remorse for breaking that nose. Jay had been taunting Paige, and in his mind, that was unacceptable. He was the protector. Paige was little, and while he did not doubt her ferocity or her hand-to-hand combat training even at her age, it was still his job as eldest to look after her and all the rest of his sibs. That was just the way it went in the hunting world, and for that reason, Jay understood and had forgiven Noah, even apologized to Paige for taunting her.

Summer and Ally had skipped ahead, hand-in-hand, babbling excitedly about what they were going to get at Turner's Olde Soda Shoppe. Connie had fallen behind, brooding over a packet of sparklers she had yet to open, trying to figure out if she was going to save them or not.

Paige, for once, was quiet, walking alongside Noah. Every once and a while she would kick at a stone in her path and glance quickly up at his face, biting her lip as if forcing herself not to ask a question.

Amusement flickered in Noah's eyes as he looked down at her. He reached a hand up to gently tug on one of her braids.

"What is it, baby cakes?" said Noah gently.

She tilted her head back to regard him with clear blue eyes that narrowed in thought. "How come everyone's afraid of you?" she wondered.

Noah blinked in surprise. "People are afraid of me?" he said, eyebrows shooting up.

"Uh-huh," Paige nodded earnestly. "I heard Kenny Drake talkin' 'bout how nobody wants to mess with you 'n Chris," she explained. "He called you a devil and says messin' with you is shit stupid."

"Language," he reminded her, flicking her cheek. She slapped his hand away and stuck her tongue out at him.

"So?" she pressed, poking him in the ribs. "How come they're afraid?"

"Beats me," Noah shrugged, grinning. "But I think it's excellent."

Paige smiled and shook her head. "Grandmama told me she worries about you," she announced. "Says you're too violent for your own good."

Noah shrugged and threw and arm around her thin shoulders, pulling her into his side. "Violence is okay," he told her, "so long as you funnel it into something constructive. Like hunting, or the military, or martial arts. It's when you do violence for the sake of violence that you should be worried."

"Who told you that?"

"My dad," he replied, tweaking her nose. "Why're you worried that people are afraid of me, anyhow?"

"I dunno." Paige shrugged daintily. "I just am. _I'm_ not afraid of you."

"I hope not," Noah said softly, hugging her tighter into his side as he slowed to a halt, his arm around her forcing her to do the same. He hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her face up so he could look her in the eye. "You do not ever need to be afraid of me, baby cakes. I would never, ever hurt you. I'd rather die."

Paige looked up at him, brow furrowing as her lip wobbled. With a suddenness that startled even him, she burst into tears, threw her arms around his waist, and buried her face in his chest.

Completely bewildered, Noah tried to figure out what he'd said. He hadn't frightened her, had he? "Baby cakes?" he said uncertainly, wrapping his arms around her. "Did I say something?"

Her only answer was to shake her head.

"Then what's the matter?"

She didn't answer, but her arms constricted so tightly it made him grunt. Well, this was a pickle. What the heck had gotten into her?

"Baby cakes?" he tried again. Noah's frustration grew when she didn't reply to that, either. "Paige?" he pressed, kissing the top of her head. "Why are you crying? You know I hate it when you cry."

Paige nodded. "," she mumbled into his shirt, voice muffled by the fabric to the point of being undistinguishable.

Noah blinked and pried her off just enough to cup her chin in his hand, tipping her head up. "In English?" he prompted with a small smile. It killed him to see the tears streaking down her face. He _hated_ tears. Hated them. With a burning, fiery passion.

"I don't want to leave," Paige whispered, sniffing pitifully. "Can I come live with you?"

He certainly wouldn't mind; she was his sister in everything but blood, anyhow. However, this was a very odd occurrence, and for her to cry over it was about as rare as catching Connie crying over something, which was pretty much never. So, he concluded, this was something serious. Major serious.

"Do you not love your dad?" Noah said, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, not that," Paige sniffed, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "I love my papa. I just…" she trailed off, scuffing her toe on the sidewalk. "I don't like my mother," she mumbled. "She yells all the time, and sometimes, she gets really mad and hits me."

Noah thanked the Gods that he was holding her in his arms right then, because if he hadn't been, he probably would have run for the nearest gun and hunted the woman down. Nobody hit his sibs. _Nobody_. "Does she hit you a lot?" he said, fighting to keep the anger out of his voice. He managed, but only just – his voice shook slightly. Paige didn't seem to notice.

"Sometimes, but only when she drinks a lot," Paige said, hiccupping at the end of her sentence, cheeks burning in shame. "Mostly she hits Chris. He stands in front of me. He won't let me get hit, or Claire, neither, but she usually goes after me. Chris hates her."

Throat burning, Noah swallowed and tried to get control of his raging emotions. His stomach was heaving at her matter-of-fact tone, wondering if Brad knew any of this, or if Paige even understood what was going on. Why hadn't Chris told him? They were brothers! It was his job to make sure Chris never had to bear any of his burdens alone!

"How many times has this happened?"

"Seven," Paige muttered, growing uncomfortable. "Mother didn't remember in the morning, but Chris still hates her. She didn't hit hard, but…it was scary, Noah. I don't like it there and I don't like her, and I wish I could come here and live with grandpa instead cuz he lets me stay up late and eat ice cream and ride horses as much as I want, and I wouldn't have to go to some _stupid _private school."

"Do you want me to talk to Grandpapa about it?"

"Would you?" Paige beamed, hugging him again. "Thank you, Noah!" Tears forgotten, she threw her arms around his neck, kissed him on the cheek, and bounded into Turner's Olde Soda Shoppe, leaving him stunned, furious, and shaking on the pavement.

Noah sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the pricking of tears in his eyes. He spun on his heel to find Connie still muttering under her breath, reading the firecracker box labels over and over again. "Connie," he said darkly, making her start a little and look up at him. "I need to go talk to grandpapa. Now. If anything happens while I'm gone, I'll kill you myself. For once in your damn life, _behave_."

Connie blinked and frowned, confused. The emotions coming off of Noah were stronger than she'd ever seen or felt, her sensitive senses twanged uncomfortably and made her head pound; usually he was cool as a cucumber. Clearly, something had happened.

"Okay," she agreed. The word was barely out of her mouth before Noah was bolting past her so quickly a breeze from his passage whipped the hair out of her face. She turned, bewildered, and watched Noah running down the street in the direction of Hal's Diner.

"That was weird." Connie shoved the firecrackers in her pocket and hurried into Turner's after her sisters, wondering what the heck Noah's problem was this time.

Noah burst into Hal's, chest heaving, startling those at the tables nearest the door as it smashed into the wall with a loud _bang_ and rebounded. He spotted his grandfather at the bar, but before he could take so much as a step inside the establishment, John had spotted him and his expression and was out of his seat like a bullet.

"Who is it this time?" John demanded roughly, latching onto the boy's arm as he shut the door behind them and started up the street. "Noah? Who's hurt? What's on fire? _NOAH?_"

"She hit her," Noah finally managed to say, getting it past the lump in his throat.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to pick up on the mixed fury and terror in Noah's voice. "Who hit who?" he said gently.

"Paige's mother," he said flatly, "_hit_ her."

"I know."

Noah was instantly livid, hands clenching into fists at his sides. "You know? _You know_?" he screamed. "You _know _and you're sending her back to that monster!"

"Noah, calm down," John said.

"Calm down!" Noah's eyes were bugging out of his head. "I can't _calm down_!"

"Noah," he barked, shaking him. "Brad is in the middle of the divorce," he explained calmly, "and as soon as it is finalized, Brad will be moving out here permanently with Chris and Paige, and God willing, Claire, too."

That took a moment to sink in, but as soon as it did, Noah relaxed. His eyes narrowed. "You're sure?" he hedged.

"Absolutely positive," said John without a moment's hesitation. He pulled the boy into the circle of his arms and hugged him tightly. "Do you honestly think I'd let anything hurt her?"

And, relieved, Noah buried his face in his grandfather's flannel shirt, inhaling his familiar scent of soap and leather, and allowed himself to finally relax, safe in the knowledge that Paige would not be harmed.

* * *

><p>The next few weeks passed in a blur of late-night bonfires and Superman stories. All the kids were ignoring the fact that summer was drawing to an end, and soon, they would have to return home to their normal lives, without the comforting presence of their sibs and John and Mary.<p>

Unfortunately, the more they ignored it the harder it became to face. As August drew to a close and panic set in, John was left with nine children clinging to each other and refusing to let go.

John ignored the sharp pang in his chest as he watched the while limo pull up the drive. Ally was clinging to Noah for all it was worth now, shaking her head frantically as tears streaked down her face.

"I don't want to go! I don't want to go!" she was sobbing into Noah's shirt, arms constricting around him so tightly he could barely breathe.

The car halted and the door opened. Tony Baraldi straightened from the vehicle, running a hand absently over his suit as he removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his collar. Smiling, he strode forward to shake John's hand.

"Hunt finalized okay?" John asked. Ally's sobs had quieted; Noah was patting her back comfortingly while she squeezed her eyes shut as if hoping it would disappear by the time she opened them again.

"Few bumps and bruises, but yeah, we finished it," Tony replied, looking past John to his children. "Ally, Jer, come on, let's go home," he called, moving towards the pack of kids. He smiled at Paige and Chris, who looked away from him at the ground, shoulders slumped in misery.

Jeremy moved immediately for his father, laughing as Tony scooped him up and swung him around in a circle. Ally, however, refused to relinquish her hold on Noah.

"Ally, honey," said Tony gently, reaching out to touch her head. "We have to go home, come on. Mommy's waiting."

"Don't want to," Ally said fiercely, hiding her face in Noah's side. "I want to stay here."

"School's starting in a week, sweetheart, you can't stay here." Tony was slightly taken aback when his normally-acts-like-a-church-mouse-daughter glared at him with a loathing capable of Bruce Clayborne.

"I DON'T WANT TO GO!" she shouted right in his face, stamping her foot in the dirt. "I WANT TO STAY HERE!"

Noah bent down and said something in her ear that placated her for the moment.

"I'll tell you what," John said, putting an arm around Noah. "If I make your daddy promise to bring you back the moment school gets out next summer, will you go with him?"

Ally extracted her face from Noah's side again and looked up at her grandpa, sniffing pitifully while she wiped a hand distractedly across her cheeks. "Maybe," she grumbled.

"And if I promise to come visit at Thanksgiving, and make your parents come at Christmas, and over spring break bring you all out here? If I force all the parents to agree to this, will you go with your daddy?"

Tony thought it over for a moment and shrugged. "I can fly him out for Thanksgiving, and Christmas out here would be a blast, just like old times," he said with a wry grin. "And over spring break, you kids can get a ride on the jet, and the day you get out of school, I'll fly both you and Paige out here if Brad won't fly you himself."

Finally, the little girl released Noah. "You mean it, daddy?"

"I mean it," Tony promised, holding his free arm out. She rushed into it, and he dropped a loving kiss on the top of her head. "I missed you, kiddo." He glanced around at all the young, tear-streaked faces. "Al, did you say goodbye to everyone?"

Ally nodded, but turned and rushed into hugs for the second time. "I'll see you in November," she said to each of them. She stopped in front of Paige and smiled.

"School," Paige said, and hugged her anyway.

Waving one last time, Ally allowed herself to be pulled into the limo. Paige clung to Chris, and Summer to Kyle, and Connie to Noah, as they waved at the retreating vehicle.

Ally kept her nose pushed against the glass until her family was out of sight, feeling the saddest she'd ever felt in her seven years.

* * *

><p>John waved until the limo disappeared, keeping his arm tight around Noah's shoulders. He, Amanda, and Cole were the only ones left, seeing as they lived in Thunder Creek permanently.<p>

Connie had pitched the most epic fit in history when her father had arrived. It had taken Bill two hours to convince her that she'd be back with her family first thing come Thanksgiving, and he and his wife would be with them.

Summer and Kyle had gone quietly, already safe in the knowledge it would only be a few months, but gave John rib-cracking hugs after forcing him to call at least twice a week, a promise he gave them without pause.

Chris, Paige, and Claire had been picked up last. Brad had excited his suburban calling out agreement to all previous terms – he'd no doubt heard about it from the other dads – and was pleased when his children rushed into his arms. He'd missed them more than he thought physically possible, and urged them to go get all their things.

"Bradley," John said gravely, shaking his son's hand. "I trust you will follow through?"

"I will, dad," Brad promised roughly, "as soon as its final, I'm bringing them here."

"I know."

"Please don't tell them anything yet."

"I won't," John promised.

"Thanks, dad."

John patted his boy on the back and smiled. "I'm proud of you for going through with this, son," he said softly. "Your mother and I are happy that you've seen the light… I worry for those kids of yours."

"Wendy hasn't been right since we lost Garrett, dad," Brad admitted, face crumpling with pain. "It's not her fault. She's changed. A part of me still loves her as much as I did on my wedding day… but that woman doesn't exist anymore. I'm going to get her into a rehab. I just hope it works. I miss the old Wendy."

"What do you mean?" John's tone was harsher than usual.

Brad's expression was pained, as if begging his father to let it go. His voice, on the other hand, was as cold as arctic frost. "I'm not re-marrying her, if that's what you're worried about. There's too much pain between us for that."

Shoulders slumping in relief, John nodded and clapped his son on the back. "I guess I'll see you in November, then," he sighed as the kids walked down the porch steps, dragging their feet. "Anytime they really want to see me, let me know, Brad. I'll fly out or fly them out. Promise me."

"I will," Brad promised. "Come on, kids," he called, waving them towards the suburban.

Paige gave Chris her bag and turned to hug Noah tightly. "I'm gonna miss you," she whispered.

Noah dropped his chin to the top of her head. "Me, too, baby cakes," said Noah.

"Promise me you'll call, or write, or something?"

"I promise." Noah released her and watched her climb in the suburban. He turned to look up at John then. "We'll see them soon?"

John certainly did not miss the fact it was phrased as more of a statement and less of a question. "You'll see them soon," said John, slinging an arm around the boy's shoulders. "Come on, Noah. I'm sure grandma's got lunch just about ready. You hungry?"

Watching the taillights bouncing down the drive, Noah doubted he'd be hungry again anytime soon.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Here it is. We're getting along at a reasonable pace... I apologize for taking so long to post this, I'm working on FTGF and didn't expect that one chapter to involve SO MUCH RESEARCH. I feel like I'm back in HS... x.X


	10. Arguments

**A/N: **Frustration makes Dean cranky… haha. I figure about six more chapters until the real story starts and the chapters get long.

**Disclaimer**: Same as the last friggin' chapters. I tire of repeating myself. Constantly. Its irritating.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER TEN<br>**Arguments

_**1990 – Dean is 11, Sam is 7**_

Sam skipped along the sidewalk, joyfully stomping through any and all puddles he could find. So intent on the ground, he wasn't paying attention to anything, and slowed his pace when a strong, familiar hand gripped the back of his jacket and pulled him backwards. Startled, he looked up in time to realize he'd almost run over a little toddler walking unsteadily with his hand tightly in his mother's.

Sheepishly, he grinned up at Dean. "Thanks," he said.

Dean rolled his eyes and ruffled his brother's shaggy, dark hair. Sam had his head in the clouds nowadays. If his protectiveness of his little brother had been bad before, now it was much, much worse. Ever since the incident with the shtriga nearly killing Sam, he'd been terrified to let his little brother out of his sight.

Shame settled on his shoulders as Sam skipped on ahead again, not straying too far, only a few steps. Far close enough for Dean to grab him and pull him into the protective circle of his arm should something happen. If only he hadn't left, Sam never would have been attacked. Because of him, and his irresponsibility, Sammy had almost _died_. His dad had never looked at him the same, not since that night.

That cut deep, deeper than he'd ever be willing to admit. Only Bobby had dragged it out of him late one night when he couldn't sleep and Sammy was dead to the world, and he'd wandered the house only to find Bobby grumbling over old books in his living room. So he'd told the aging hunter about what had happened and how Sam had almost died, and how pissed he had been. Bobby had angrily informed him (though the anger in his voice was _not _directed at Dean) that it hadn't been his fault and quite frankly, John was a selfish dumbass to leave them alone and vulnerable to attack so often when so much supernatural shit wanted him dead.

He'd tried to explain it to Bobby, really, he had. But Bobby had just looked aghast, horrified, disgusted, and after that, threatened to shoot John in the ass if he ever set foot on his property again. He cocked the shotgun and everything.

And no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get Bobby to get that.

Growing up, Dean had followed two rules and two rules only: one, that he was to protect his brother at all costs no matter what or else, and two, that he was to _always _follow John's orders. And by leaving that hotel room and Sam alone, he'd broken both of the never-to-be-broken rules, all in the same night. He'd failed to both protect his little brother _and_ follow his dad's orders.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?" he replied, the young voice yanking him out of his reprieve.

"How come dad's gone so much? And why'd he get so freaked after I had that weird nightmare?"

Dean sighed and fished through his pocket for the key to their motel room, shoving Sam inside and closing the door behind him. Lately, Sam had been peppering him with questions and he'd been dodging them the best he could, but there were only so many lies he could make up to evade the truth.

"Dad's a salesman," he explained, for about the millionth time.

Sam was already shaking his head as he dropped his backpack beside the couch. "I looked it up, Dean," he insisted vehemently, "and salesmen have products to sell, number one, and they don't hop all around the country like we do."

Damn. Too smart for his own good. Inwardly, Dean cursed. "It's complicated, Sam," he said after a brief, tense silence.

"That's what you ALWAYS SAY!" Sam shouted, losing his cool. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now, and he was sick to death of his brother answering his questions with questions or not answering him at all. Dean was the master of evasion, and eight-year-old Sam had had enough.

"Because it's true," Dean said with unruffled calm. "It's complicated."

"That's not a straight answer!"

Dean just shrugged, inwardly chuckling a little about how fierce his younger sibling was becoming before his eyes.

Sam, sensing that his brother was going to go on being his usual stubborn self, sat down on the couch in defeat, boring holes into his older brother's skull.

"Mom didn't die in a car accident, did she?"

For a moment, Dean just stared at him, eyes swirling with emotion. It wasn't a probing question, he hadn't asked for detail, he was simply asking for a yes or a no. So, before he could over think it, he shook his head slowly, forcing down the pain at the horrifying memory.

Little shoulders slumping, Sam sighed. He'd suspected that for a while, but Dad was never around to ask, and until now Dean had kept his knowledge under lock and key. Sometimes at night he heard Dean calling out to their mother in his dreams, and it made him sad. If he didn't have a picture, he wouldn't even know what his Mom had looked like.

"Dad's not a salesman, either, is he?"

Resting his elbows on his knees, Dean bowed his head to study the top of his shoes. He heaved out a great sigh and didn't lift his eyes to meet his brothers. "No, Sam," he whispered as if hoping to keep it a secret. "He's not."

Sam had suspected as much.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: A short one about Dean/Sam. They're mostly just little drabbles until Paige & Dean reunite in TC. It's coming up… patience, my friends. ;)


	11. Return

**A/N: **The Crew are dorks. I love Noah. 'Nuff said.

Though I do have one more thing. I DO jump around the years. Be sure to check the start of each chapter if you get a little confused. This chap, for example, takes place in September of '89. The last chap was Dean and Sam in '90. Basically, just know that the years don't exactly correspond between the two POVs. Okay? Any confusion, feel free to PM me. I honestly don't bite, won't get irritated, and would be happy to answer any questions so long as you're not trying to get me to spill the beans about the plot. ;)

**Disclaimer**: Own the OCs, my friends, and that's **IT**.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER ELEVEN<br>**Return

Wyoming's pleasant summer weather was drawing to a close. The sweltering heat that had all but baked the state for the last month was abating at long last, replaced with hot days and cool nights, a period known as "Indian Summer". School would be starting again soon for the younger residents of Thunder Creek, a prospect nearly all of them looked forward too, as most young children do. One boy in particular was especially upset about this.

To avoid his father's questions and the knowing gaze of his grandfather, not to mention the annoying whining of his younger siblings Amanda and Cole, Noah Clayborne was flat on his back in the garden that belonged to his grandmother, wedged cleverly between a hedge and a currant bush on one side of the porch that stretched halfway around the expansive Newbern Ranch House. He had one arm folded behind his head as he mulled over the events of the best summer of his life, occasionally swatting away flies that buzzed near his face.

Tomorrow, school was starting, yet another painful reminder of how he'd been forcibly separated from his "sibs", a group of kids he'd grown to love like family in a very short period of time. Only the Knox boys were around to keep him company, and while he loved them as much as the rest, it just wasn't the same without Chris or Kyle around. He missed having them around, missed getting into mischief, missed arguing over who would take next guard duty (the girls were constantly almost killing themselves) and who would dare run to grandpa and tell him Connie had set the barn on fire _again_ ("CONSTANCE ISABELLA ROSE, GET YOUR SKINNY LITTLE BEHIND BACK HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT, MISSY! AND _**DROP THOSE MATCHES**_!").

Despite his general feeling of melancholy, Noah smiled. Even now, he had no idea how Connie had managed to set things on fire so often. She had the boys over at the Fire Station twitching profusely, muttering under their breaths, and diving compulsively for a bucket every time a blonde-haired girl entered their sights, which was endlessly amusing, as about half the girls in town were blonde.

The voice of John Newbern drew him out of his depressive thoughts.

" — what are you going to do with the boy, Bruce, chain him in a closet, I mean honestly — "

"What would you have me do, John? The boy won't talk to me! He snaps my head off!" Bruce Clayborne bit back, outraged.

Noah's ears perked up as the voices drew nearer. He heard the familiar creak of the porch swing, and rolled over slightly to peer through the smallest gap in the hedge. John Newbern ("grandpapa" to The Crew/Horde/whatever one wanted to call them) was seated on the porch swing with Noah's cross-looking father restlessly bouncing his leg beside him.

"Your son is — "

"Making me want to punch something!"

"— _missing his family_," said John in a much louder voice.

"I _can't change that_, John, I just _can't_. They're all back in California. Noah knows that."

"Knowing something and accepting something are two _very _different things, Bruce David," said John, a warning note in his voice now. Bruce opened his mouth to argue, but he said loudly, "Will you _listen_ to me for just a second, please? This is a hard time for Noah, what with the anniversary of Holly's death coming up, piled on top of being lonely. _Try_ to understand, won't you, that your boy is miserable."

Bruce groaned in pure frustration and let his head drop back, _thunk_ing it unceremoniously against the wall. "What should I do?" he said dejectedly after a long silence.

Shrugging, John leaned back into the swing and crossed his arm, pushing off the porch with his booted left foot. "I like to think that you are intelligent enough to figure that one out for yourself," he drawled, "please do not disappoint me now."

Snorting, Bruce lifted his head and shook it ruefully. "Do you know who you remind me of?"

"Someone important or fascinating, I hope," said John, eyes twinkling.

"Yoda. You remind me of Yoda."

"Ah," John sighed contentedly, "a fellow both important _and _fascinating."

Bruce gave up trying to argue his case, closing his eyes as he thought about what John — his sort of surrogate father — had said.

"John," he said slowly after a comfortable silence, "when will it happen?"

"Soon, I hope — "

"How soon?" Bruce cut him off.

"Difficult to say. By December, at least, depending on how long the courts drag it out, and whether or not Claire is put with Brad or Wendy — "

Noah's brain froze up right then, heart pounding at a frantic pace. Something was happening? Claire, Paige, and Chris were to be separated? Dread settled in his heart, and with a start, he realized he'd been tuning out his father and grandfather.

"— that's good, at least," John was saying, "they will be more comfortable."

"I certainly hope so," Bruce sighed. "Noah will be happy."

John nodded with a throaty noise of agreement.

"Are you sure? About moving the headquarters here, I mean?"

_Headquarters?_ Noah wondered. To what? The Brotherhood? If the headquarters were moving here, then that would mean… it clicked in his brain, but before he could get his hopes up, he squashed that thought. At least he was safe in the knowledge they would be together, because grandpapa would never put "separated from each other" and "comfortable" in the same sentence.

After all, who knew what they were talking about. Kicking himself mentally for zoning out, he wiggled carefully out of his hiding place and didn't stand up until he was well out of sight.

* * *

><p>"Master Newbern? Sir?"<p>

Brad Newbern glanced up from his papers, blinking owlishly at the disruption, to find his butler Chauncey staring at him with the air of someone who had just been forced to repeat himself multiple times in growing volume.

"Chauncey," he said, rubbing his eyes as he sat up from his half-slouch against the desk, "what is it?"

"Call for you, sir, line one," the butler said, before bowing and disappearing out the parlor door.

Sparing a brief moment of amusement for his butler — the man honestly thought he was Alfred from the Batman series or something, what with his bowing and _Master this_ and _Master that_ — he glanced at the clock over the door and deduced only one person would dare call this late before jabbing the button and answering the phone.

"Fruit of your loins speaking, what can I do for you?" said Brad sarcastically.

"_Can it, smart ass_," sighed John. Brad could almost hear him rolling his eyes, even if they were three states apart. _"Urgent Brotherhood business."_

"Of course. You as Leader of the Conclave of course have me at your beck and call, we are your slaves after all," he sniped.

"_Oh, do grow up and be serious, won't you?_" John snapped.

Chuckling, Brad dropped his acting-like-a-moron attitude and decided to be serious. "What is the problem, _signore_?"

"_I have decided to move the headquarters of the Brotherhood from Sioux Falls, South Dakota to Thunder Creek, Wyoming. Alert all those involved through the proper channels._"

A sharp inhale was Brad's only reaction. His father prodded him for an answer after a long, tense silence. "Christ, dad, how'd you get ol' Bobby to agree to _that _one?"

"_Well, he sure as hell wilna be jumping for joy anytime soon, but recognizes the severity and necessity of the situation of the children who are receiving demon blood._"

"I see," said Brad, dryly. "So this is an attempt to spy on Connie and Cole, then."

"_Well…that, too. They _are_ my grandchildren. I'd rather have them under my nose than being hunted by some crackpot old fool who decides they're the antichrist."_

Brad laughed at that and rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully. "Are you insinuating what I think you are, father?"

"_Oh, for God's sake, Brad _— _finish your goddamn divorce, and get your ass over to Wyoming so I don't have to look at Noah moping about like I killed his puppy. It's damned irritating."_

Having grown up with a gruff but caring father such as this, Brad did not take offense to the waspish tone. Instead, he smiled gently as if he could relay his appreciation to his father that way.

"Okay, dad," he said warmly, "I love you too, and I would be _more _than happy to move in with you, if only so that _I _can stop watching _my _children moping about like I killed their puppy. It is, as you so aptly put it, damned irritating."

John's rich chuckle floated through the phone. _"Caught on, have you?" _he said rhetorically. "_Thought you might._"

"Well… I _am _your son, after all."

* * *

><p>On the morning of September the fifth, Paige Newbern hefted her backpack higher onto her shoulders and struggled to fight her internal bad mood. Christopher was gone, off to the older classrooms, as was Ally, to the younger. This left her alone in a class of twenty-four kids, all of whom she'd known pretty much since birth, and none of whom she particularly liked very much.<p>

She wished Jared was here. He was the only one of all her sibs who was the same age. At least then, she'd be having fun, because he'd be throwing paper balls at the back of Tristan Armstrong's head, or shooting spitballs at rat-faced Angie Dower, who'd bullied pretty much everyone since kindergarten. (Paige didn't like her much, and usually expressed her dislike by putting a tack on her chair or punching her on the nose when the sow wouldn't leave her alone).

The rest of the class was already present when she walked in just as the bell rang.

The teacher, Mr. Amos, frowned at her over his spectacles. "Miss Newbern, I presume?"

Numbly, Paige nodded and dropped into the seat at the very front of the class, right next to James Knight, the shiest boy in school. She dropped her backpack beside her chair and scooted in, folding her arms over the desk. James smiled at her, and only half-heartedly did she return it.

James Knight was from a long of hunters just as long as her family tree. He, too, had spent the summer in Thunder Creek with his grandparents, but Paige had barely seen him. Tall and lanky for his age, his black hair was a messy mishmash on his head, but his eyes were a bright hazel that lit up with his shy smiles. If James was being honest, he'd never had the chance to talk to her because he was too afraid of Noah Clayborne, who had practically been glued to her hip after she'd almost drowned.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hey," she whispered back, twirling a pencil around her fingers as Mr. Amos started to drone first-day-of-school nonsense. "Good summer?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

James' lips flashed into a second smile, a record for him. Paige actually looked at him and realized he wasn't as shy as he'd seemed before. "Bet you miss your sibs, huh?"

"A bit, yeah."

"Good job in the rodeo. Grandpa said you kicked ass barrel racing."

Paige grinned. "I did," she admitted. "But so did you, in cutting."

"MISS NEWBERN!"

She jumped and looked guiltily up at the front desk. Mr. Amos was glaring at her as if hoping her hair would catch on fire, a thought she quickly shoved away as fire made her think of Connie.

"Yes, Mr. Amos?" she said sweetly, blinking to accentuate the picture of perfect innocence.

Amos looked livid as he slammed the phone back down. She hadn't even heard it ring. "The Headmaster wishes to see you."

"But I haven't done anything yet," said Paige automatically. The class stifled giggles.

"Now," Amos barked.

"Fine," she muttered, pulling her backpack on. "See ya, James."

James nodded and gave a little half-wave as Paige trudged out of the classroom and down the corridor, taking the extremely familiar path to the headmaster's office. Without looking up, she entered the office and mumbled a greeting to the secretary.

"You too, huh?"

Paige's head snapped up to find none other than Chris seated calmly on the couch. "Chris?" she squeaked, before launching herself at him for a quick hug. "Why are you here?"

"Dunno," Chris replied, patting the top of her head.

Both children looked up when the door to the headmaster's office opened, and their father and the headmaster walked out.

"There you two are," Brad said cheerfully, bending down slightly to accept their enthusiastic hugs. "Come on, we're leaving."

"Leaving where?"

"You two have officially been transferred to Thunder Creek Elementary," said Brad, slinging both his children's backpacks over his shoulders. He grinned at their stunned expressions. "So come on. Let's go. All your stuff is already packed. The plane is waiting."

Chris and Paige exchanged excited glances, and then with a joyful whoop of "We're going _home_!", the children raced out of the office hand in hand, their laughing father trailing in their wake.

* * *

><p>Noah Clayborne walked around in a slight daze, still in denial. The other kids avoided him, but he didn't mind. He just kept an eye on Cole and Amanda, and went about his business. Good thing the other kids had heard of his stunts over the summer and did not dare approach him, even as the bell for lunch rang.<p>

Surrounded as he was by other hunters' children, it was difficult to be discreet. There were, of course, non-hunting families that lived in Thunder Creek, as well as kids from outside counties who drove all the way to the _fine scholarly institution_. It had uniforms and everything. Education was deemed important to further the cause of the Brotherhood and hunting itself worldwide.

All the kids made an effort to speak in code. Demons were "ugly friends", spirits were "silvers", hunters were exactly that as it could be passed off as hunting animals, etcetera etcetera. All the same, the "normal" kids were of the opinion that the hunters' kids were freaks of nature. And, quite frankly, Noah was proud of that. He'd like to see _them _take on a demon or a spirit — they'd probably pee their pants and flee.

The image would have been funny…it was just that without Chris and Kyle, things weren't the same. Sighing, he stuffed his things in his backpack and headed down the hall for the cafeteria.

"Noah, dear, may I have a moment?"

Noah looked up to find Principal Rawlings staring down at him with concern in her soft brown eyes. "Miss Annette," he said numbly, inclining his head. Other kids were starting to stare now. A "freak" was getting himself in trouble.

"Come along, dear," she sniffed, resting one small fine-boned hand on his shoulder.

"What did I do?"

"Nothing," said the principal, surprised. "I have a surprise for you."

Noah's brow furrowed in confusion. Why would the _principal_ have a surprise for him, Noah Clayborne, resident hell-raiser, Prankster-In-Chief, and He Who Causes All Sorts of Mischief No Matter What We Punish Him With. (Chris was good at thinking of names for things.) Before he could open his mouth to argue, however, the door down the hall that led to the Principal's office flew open, banging against the wall.

He felt his jaw drop as he recognized Christopher, white teeth flashing as he grinned and jogged up the hall.

"NOAH!"

Blonde hair flying out behind her, Paige sprinted into the hall, veered directly for him, and did not slow down. Noah braced himself just in time to receive her, the impact of her collision nearly knocking him flat on his ass.

"Paige?" he grunted in surprise, pulling her into a tight hug. He started to laugh and spun her around in circles, making her laugh and cling to him all the harder. "What are you doing here?"

Noah stopped spinning, holding Paige by her shoulders and pushing her out to where he could look into her face. Chris made it there by then and clapped him on the back with a happy grin.

"We moved to Thunder Creek! We're gonna live with grandpa!" beamed Paige as she fisted her hands in Noah's shirt.

"Really?" said Noah, hands clenching reflexively on her shoulders.

"Really," Chris promised solemnly.

Forgotten by the children, Principal Rawlings shook her head in mock dismay. She'd known Bruce Clayborne and Brad Newbern from her own childhood. Somehow, she doubted that their sons would cause any less chaos than their fathers had.

Suddenly, the woman was afraid. Very, very afraid.

Instead of one devil, she now had to deal with _two_.

God help her.

* * *

><p><strong><em>December '89<em>**

Summer faded into fall and fall into winter. Thanksgiving had been fun-filled and hectic, with the Crew reuniting, albeit briefly, before they left again, not to return until Christmas. The Clayborne kids, along with the Knox boys and Chris and Paige (Claire was to visit at Christmas and over summers; the rest of the year she lived with Wendie) made up the half of the Crew who lived in Thunder Creek year round.

Brad did not envy Principal Rawlings her job of single-handedly attempting to keep the boys from burning down her school. Since September, he and Bruce had received no less than three dozen calls of various complaints, pranks, and general mayhem-inducing schemes that landed the boys in serious amounts of trouble, even though the pranks themselves weren't dangerous or anything. Just irritating. And often rude.

Like, for example, when they purposefully turned the taps of all the bathrooms on the second floor of the school, flooding the entire hall for a week. Or when they infused all the hand towels with itching power. Or Brad's personal favorite, when they'd let loose an entire sack of garden snakes (harmless, of course) into the Lunch Hall, terrifying the children into a frenzy.

To say the least, the past three months had been hectic for the Newbern family.

Paige shifted in her seat to pass the peas to her brother, covertly glancing at her grandpa from under her brows every other minute. "Grandpapa?" said Paige, finally plucking up the courage. "Where's papa?"

"On a date, dear," replied John as he passed the rolls. Mary had finally gotten sick of Brad locking himself in the study for Brotherhood business from dawn till dusk and had set him up with a divorced mother of three who also happened to be the daughter of her best friend Julie.

Chris and Paige exchanged glances as their folded their hands to pray. It was unusually quiet without their dad at the table; they'd grown very used to listening to the patriarchs of the family discussing Brotherhood business, their most recent golf fame, or debating the uses of serrated versus un-serrated knives over dinner.

"Date?" mouthed Chris when the prayer was finished and their grandparents were occupied in picking up their utensils and folding their napkins in their laps.

Paige shrugged and picked up her knife.

"Napkin, dear," Mary chided, reaching over to fold it in her granddaughters lap.

Smiling her thanks, Paige took a bite of Mary's famous pork roast. Outside, the snow was falling in a steady flurry, pushed about by the angry wind. Hopefully they'd have lots of snow on Christmas so they could build snowmen like Noah had promised.

"Damn, it's quiet without the rest of you youngsters about," said John into the silence.

"John, dear, watch your language," scolded Mary, smiling across the table at her grandchildren, who were hiding giggles in their hands. "Besides, you know perfectly well they will be back for two weeks at Christmas, another week in April, and the entire summer."

John just rolled his eyes as she continued to blab, winking at Chris and Paige, who grinned and tucked into their food with gusto.

All the same, Paige missed all her sibs being there with them, and judging by Chris' melancholy expression, his thoughts were much the same.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Hmm. Not sure if I like where I ended this one. Oh, well.


	12. You Have Got to be Kidding Me

**A/N: **Enjoy.

**Disclaimer**: I happen to own everything in this. Steal and die, people. Steal and die. :P

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER TWELVE<br>**You Have Got To Be Kidding Me…

**Thunder Creek, WY**  
>June 5, 1990<p>

The enraged bellow all but shook the rafters, so great in volume that John could not help but be impressed. Chris certainly had a fine set of lungs on him, come to think of it, so did his granddaughters, too. In fact, they looked just as angry as the young lad currently going red in the face.

"HE'S GETTING _MARRIED_?"

"Aye, lad. Married," John confirmed with a firm nod, gesturing between Brad and Debbie. "To Deb."

Chris spun to face Brad, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "How could you, dad?" he thundered, tears filming in his dark blue eyes. Before Brad could even open his mouth to defend himself, Chris spun on his heel and stalked out the front door, slamming it shut so hard behind him that the window panes rattled. A moment passed before the girls, pink-cheeked, followed after their big brother, calling his name as the door closed behind them as well.

Through the window John could see the other children waiting, concern etched all over their faces as they rushed forward to meet Chris. They walked off in the direction of the barn, Kyle with his arm slung over Chris' shoulders. It was difficult to say from this far away, but it appeared that all the kids were talking at once, no doubt tripping all over themselves to make Chris feel better.

Poor Debbie stood beside Brad, one hand tightly holding his. Her free arm was slung over her son Travis' thin shoulders, and her daughter Carolyn was leaning back into their mother's embrace.

John winced and sighed. "Well, son," he said conversationally, "I really don't know why you expected anything different."

Brad turned a vicious glare on his father, pulling Debbie into his side. "And what in the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" he growled. "I'm going to give that boy a piece of my mind. How dare he treat us like that…"

"You will do no such thing," John thundered, stepping into his son's path and raising a threatening finger. He may be three inches shorter, but he was by no means less intimidating than his hot-headed only son. "That boy has been through hell, Bradley, _hell_. He associates mothers with pain and abuse. He understands far more than you give him credit for, and so help me _God_, if you so much as raise your voice at that boy, I will give you hell tenfold. You hear me?"

Eyes narrowing in part thought, part suspicion, he considered his father's threat―a threat he had no doubt his father would follow through with.

"What is it you know that I don't?" he said.

"Where would you like me to begin?" snapped John, growl in his voice. Travis and Carolyn flinched a little, eyes wide. "Why is it, son, that I understand your boy better than his own father does? Do you not see what is happening here?"

"Apparently I'm not looking with a broad enough mind," said Brad softly. "Tell me, dad." After a moment, he added, "Please."

"He's afraid."

"Of Debbie?" said Brad, incredulous. Debbie, the poor confused woman, was in much of the same state. Brad's children had liked her, or so it had seemed…until now.

John shot his son a look that said he felt Brad was being incredibly dense and said, "Of being replaced, Brad. Do try to keep up."

Brad rolled his eyes and gestured for his father to continue.

"He is afraid that Debbie will turn out to be just like Wendy, and that Travis and Carolyn will replace him and his sisters in your life. That boy would die before he saw you look at those girls any less," John added, smiling faintly at Debbie. "I know that you won't―but you have to make _him _understand that, too. Chris is a smart kid, he'll figure it out soon enough. But for now, be gentle with him. Oh, and Debbie?"

"Yes, John?" Debbie said quietly, eyebrows raising ever-so-slightly.

"Whatever you do, don't try to win him over. He'll decide on his own if he likes you or not. That goes for the girls too." John turned away, and stopped suddenly to turn back, expression thoughtful. "In fact, that goes for the whole lot of them. You won't be too popular at first. Give them time."

"Them?" Debbie wondered curiously.

John just smiled, threw open the door, and bellowed, "KIDS! Dinner!"

And, of course, they all came running.

* * *

><p>Debbie felt like she was facing a firing squad.<p>

The tradition, Brad had explained, was for all of his children and the children of many other hunting friends to stay the entire summer with their "grandparents". Sixteen boys and girls, all under the same roof, with only an aging couple to keep a watch on them. For three months.

It was a miracle that they were still alive. But that wasn't what had Debbie so upset.

No, it was the children themselves.

They'd filed into the dining room, helped Mary set the table, and gone to pre-arranged seats. The tallest one, a white-blonde boy with icy blue eyes, had stood beside Travis's chair for two minutes before Travis realized he should move, twirling a knife as big as his forearm on the table. Travis was now seated between his mother and Mary, avoiding eye contact with the blue-eyed devils.

There were lots of them. Blue eyed devils, that is. Two had hazel eyes, and two brown, but the rest―varying shades of blue. And not a single expression was even remotely friendly. A psychologist herself, Debbie was fascinated by the way they acted together. It was as if sixteen separate people were in fact the same person. When one moved, the others shifted to fill the space, like some bizarre other-worldly solar system. The boys were also extremely protective of the younger ones, especially the girls.

It was, Debbie realized, very similar to a wolf pack. Their actions, that is, they could eat like civilized human beings. Chris, Paige, and Claire refused to even look in her direction. When addressed by Brad (who was seated next to her) the threesome would answer without looking at him, and no matter what Brad threatened, they still would not.

The rest of the table more than made up for their lack of eye contact by attempting to drill holes into her, Travis, and Carolyn's heads with their gazes, very much like laser beams.

Hence the firing squad comparison.

One could also compare it to suddenly being thrown into the middle of a glacier. The atmosphere was so icy Debbie had to resist the urge to check for icicles. Or holes in her head.

They were the most suspicious children Debbie had ever met.

She'd never seen anything like it, and did not understand why they acted the way they did.

Two hours later, she understood.

* * *

><p>It started out like a normal evening on the Newbern ranch. The kids finished dinner, helped clean up, and ran to the stables to tack their horses for the first ride of the summer. The sun would be down soon, so they compensated by riding in the arena instead.<p>

And boy, were they excited.

Debbie followed beside Brad, her hand clasped in his, with Travis and Carolyn trailing along behind. This was a long standing tradition, and she did not dare interfere.

"No jumping," Brad called out when he noticed Paige and Summer setting up that very thing. They pouted but sighed and spread the poles out on the sand instead, to use for patterns and gait practice.

She could not help but be impressed―each and every one of them rode bareback, some without bridles.

"Dad taught them all last summer," Brad explained quietly, as they mounted the steps of the raised platform to watch the arena below.

It started out perfectly normal―kids on the horses, smiling and laughing as they rode around the arena cracking jokes and making faces. They were a family, Debbie could read it in their body language. She'd been dating Brad for a while now—since his successful divorce from his ex-wife—and had gotten to know Brad's three children relatively well. Chris was the outgoing one, stubborn as a rock and just as proud as his father. Paige was the sarcastic little spitfire constantly getting into trouble, as if determined to turn Brad prematurely gray. Claire was the bubbly early riser with a personality like sunshine, so when people asked her to start calling her Jillian instead of Claire, well, nobody refused or really bothered to ask why.

Everybody knew it was because her mother called her Claire, and sunshine-like as she was, Claire had realized that her mother was not in fact as wonderful as she'd once believed.

Debbie wasn't looking to replace their mother…but she _was _hoping to show them that mothers could be kind, loving, supporting, and normal.

Right about the time that train of thought popped into her head, all hell broke loose.

The tractor backfired beside the barn, sending off a sound louder than most gunshots. Five of the horses in the arena violently balked, and as there were no saddles, five little bodies hit the ground. There was shouting and chaos, rearing horses screaming in fear, horses being spun in tight circles, and dust kicked up everywhere blocking a visual of what the hell was going on. In-between flashes of horse's flanks and flashing hooves, she spotted the children on the ground with their arms over their heads.

Brad was already in the arena struggling to get to the children before one of the horses accidentally trampled them. He could not see his eldest daughter, Connie, Summer, Cole, or Jeremy, and was pushing his way through in an effort to protect them from harm.

He really should have known better.

Noah was sprawled over Paige and Summer, protecting their bodies with his, as Theo and Elliot forced the horses to the outside of the arena. Christopher was protecting Cole and Jeremy, and Jared had somehow thrown himself onto Connie. The boys were bruised, battered, and bleeding, as were most of the girls, but it could have been much worse.

The boys managed to keep the horses away and the spooked animals gradually calmed down.

Noah rolled off of his sisters and frantically checked them for injuries. "Are you okay?" he demanded, spinning the two girls this way and that.

"Fine," Paige whispered in a very small voice.

"Just startled," Summer croaked, clinging to his shirt.

Forcing back a choked sob of relief, Noah pulled them both up off the ground and against his chest, one arm around each of them holding them close. The girls burrowed into his warmth, his safety, as their heart-rates slowed in comparison to his thundering one.

"Cole, Jer, and Connie okay?" Noah called.

"They're fine, just spooked," Jared called back. He had Cole and Jeremy in much of the same position Noah currently held Paige and Summer.

Connie wiggled free of Jared's relieved embrace and forced herself between her sisters. She'd placed herself right in Noah's lap, leaning against his chest listening to his heartbeat. As his arms were full, Noah initiated contact by gently placing his cheek on the top of her head.

Brad finally made it through the panicked group of stable hands, horses, and parents to the middle of the arena and the scene unfolding there. He was relieved beyond words to see no broken bones or serious injuries.

The rest of the parents were struggling to get through the chaos, as the dust was still thick and they couldn't see much, until they heard Brad ask one of his children if they were okay.

"I'm fine, papa," Paige's voice said loudly over the chaos, "Noah dove on us. _He's _the one who got stomped on, not us. He protected us."

Thankful beyond description, Brad bent to press a kiss to the top of Noah's head. "Thank you," he said softly, smiling down at the young man.

Noah just smiled and ruffled Paige and Summers' hair.

"It's my job," he said simply.

John had never doubted his grandson and smiled gently at Debbie from his vantage point outside the arena. "They don't hate you, Deb," he told his soon-to-be daughter-in-law. "They just don't trust you."

Debbie could live with that—hate was nearly impossible to get rid of.

Trust, on the other hand, could be won. Based off their behavior, it appeared that she would have to start with the pack leaders, Chris and Noah.

It was going to be a long week.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: There's twelve. Next is the Horde, and the one after that will be the Winchesters. :P

**REVIEWS=LOVE!  
>(and confidence for me)<br>Push it, you know you want to… :P**


	13. Reluctant Acceptance & Round Two

**A/N**: Sorry guys RL has been a bitch as of late and college is kicking me in the ass big time. I also have to say that for FTGF a bad review kind of killed my muse for a long time… I'm working on Ch6, got all of it done except for the end of the hunt in Amish country. Should have that posted by Monday if all goes well, but not making any promises.

This is two chapters stuck together. Reluctant Acceptance is the first part, takes place in summer of '90, and Round Two is the second part, summer of '91.

The end will no doubt excite you… enjoy. :P

**Disclaimer**: Only own the OCs, peeps.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER THIRTEEN<strong>  
>Reluctant Acceptance—&amp;—Round Two<p>

_Thunder Creek, WY  
><em>August 2, 1990

Chris perched his chin on his fist and brooded over the last couple months of his life. He was sitting up in the barn loft, feet hanging over the side, swinging absently in the dusty barn air. His elbow was resting on the second slat of the fence, back perched against a hay bale that was currently poking him in seven different places, but he hardly noticed.

He took stock of his emotions. He was mad, mad as hell, even still. The Whites had moved in with them, despite the vehement protests of the kids—it was breaking summer tradition—but John had smoothed it over by ordering Brad to buy his own house and keeping all the children on the ranch like normal. Jealousy curled in his gut as he thought over the last couple of months. Travis and Carrie had readily accepted Brad as a father figure, and his dad was spending a lot of time and energy trying to ease them into a new life away from the fear of being beaten. Travis and Carolyn were more skittish than grandpa's new yearlings, and clung to him like glue. He, Paige, and Claire could never get time alone with him, not without the _others_ tagging along.

It wasn't fair, but he wasn't going to whine. His dad had taught him that whining got you nowhere. Even if it was _his _daddy, not theirs, and they were butting into _his _family.

Chris didn't really trust Debbie, either. Maybe a little more now that he had in June… she was nice. Her smile was pretty. She laughed a lot, more than his mother ever did, and her eyes sparkled with life. Never in his life had he seen his mother's eyes do that, at least, not since baby Garrett had died. He would catch himself sort of liking her… and then he would remember the feel of his mother's fist beating down on his shoulders, and his heart would harden towards her again.

Claire had liked her immediately, and got along great with Travis and Carolyn, who were to be their step-siblings. Paige, loyal as always, disliked Debbie as much as he did. Trav and Carrie weren't all bad though, he supposed. Even though he and Travis were nothing alike.

Where Chris was tall for his age, with broad shoulders and muscles already developing to strength and an aptitude for athleticism, Travis was thin and wiry, wore glasses, was as shy as a church mouse, and spent most of the day with his nose stuck in a book.

They had nothing in common, nothing at all, so Chris was finding it hard to bond. Carrie was the same way, though she was becoming more outgoing now that she was settling onto life at the ranch.

All they had in common, he realized, was the fact that they'd been abused by their parents. He and Paige by their mother, and Travis and Carolyn by their father. Where Wendy was an alcoholic and a violent one at that, their father—he still had no idea what his name was and they weren't being chatty about it—was a drug addict _and_ alcoholic.

The boy huffed out a breath and ran a hand through his dark brown hair, realizing absently that he would need a haircut again soon. He hated it when his hair flopped onto his forehead. His serious dark blue eyes turned to the barn doors when they creaked open and his dad stepped through, clicking on the lights.

Chris blinked against the brightness and scowled down at his father, who was scanning the barn looking for him. His scowl didn't fade when Brad finally spotted him, and frowning, climbed up the stairs to the loft.

"What are you doing up here all by yourself, son?" Brad wondered as he came to a halt next to the boy, the floorboards creaking loudly under his weight.

Not answering, Chris looked in the opposite direction, folding his arms on the wood and resting his chin on his wrist.

"You had your sisters in fits. They couldn't find you." Brad paused when Chris' shoulders stiffened, distressed and guilty over the news. But, stubborn as always, Chris continued to refuse to meet his gaze. Had been, actually, since he'd announced he intended to marry Debbie.

"That's not like you, Christopher John," he added, taking a seat beside the boy, hanging his legs over the edge as well.

Chris did not reply, but scooted farther away, shoulders thrumming with tension.

Brad sighed. His son was growing up, fast. And he couldn't help feeling like he'd failed his boy somehow, didn't understand the anger Chris had been directing at him since June.

"Christopher, did I ever tell you about the day you were born?" said Brad, staring wistfully down at the barn floor.

No reply, but Chris' head turned ever-so-slightly towards him so he could hear better.

Smiling over the small victory, Brad gathered his thoughts. "You were so small, I thought. Even though the doctors said you were big for a baby, almost ten pounds. Full head of dark hair and the biggest blue eyes I ever saw. You looked right at me, and in that moment I loved you so much that it took my breath away. I stayed home as much as I could, passing off hunts to the rest of the guys. I was afraid I'd miss something.

"What I didn't miss was your mother… she has something called postpartum depression. Do you know what that is?"

He waited quietly for a moment, but Chris' only reaction was to shake his head, just a little. Still not making eye contact, Brad noted, and not for the first time he marveled at how his stubbornness rivaled even John's.

"It's something that happens to mother's after they have babies sometimes, buddy," he explained, pulling the boy into his side, stroking a hand through his thick, dark hair like he used to do when Chris was young. "Your mom was upset, she was depressed… she wasn't herself. She wouldn't even hold you, wouldn't feed you, and wouldn't change you. She wouldn't even look at you. I begged her for months to get help, but… you were a little colicky as a baby, and you were always happiest with me. I think your mom resented me for that, she felt like she couldn't bond with you, like you hated her."

"I didn't hate her, not then," Chris whispered, pressing his face into his dad's side.

"I know, buddy," sighed Brad. "I can't explain your mother… she hasn't been herself in a long time. She got help like I told her to, and she got better. Bonded with you and all that… but it was never as strong as the bond you had with me. Your little face would just light up whenever I looked at you. Sometimes, son, your little face was the only thing that kept me going through really tough hunts. Even though she never actually said it, she felt like there was something wrong with her, and was too damn stubborn to ask anyone for advice. She felt like she knew everything, like she could be a perfect mom, and she tried so hard to. I don't think she understood that we loved her just the way she was.

"And then, she found out she was pregnant again, with your little sister. I was ecstatic –– another child, a brother or sister for you. When your sister was born, your mom was fine. She didn't have postpartum depression, she didn't suffer… but she felt like she didn't bond with Paige, either. Your little sister was even fussier than _you_."

That prompted a small smile out of Chris, but he didn't remove his face from its position hidden in his dad's warm side.

"She felt like a failure again, I think, even though Paige liked her just as much as she liked me. But I think your baby sister liked you the best. Even from when she was first born, she'd look around for you, and you'd bend right over and press your little noses together, and the biggest smile was spread across her face." Brad sighed raggedly, still stroking his boy's hair. Sometimes, he wished they could go back to the earlier days, when Chris was small enough to fit on his hip, and the high point of his day was his daddy walking through the door. "You two were peas in a pod. Your mom used to say it wasn't normal, how you watched over her. I never had to worry about her, not for a second. I knew you'd always watch over her."

"Because it's my job," Chris whispered.

"Only because you _chose _to make it so," Brad murmured, dropping a kiss to the top of the boy's head.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

"I'm trying to explain to you that not every woman is like your mom, Chris. Debbie is a good mom… she's been through the same thing we have, only it was the dad in her family instead of the mom. Do you understand?"

"I think so," whispered Chris. "You're telling me you love me… and that you love Debbie, and you want me to give her a chance."

Brad gripped his son by the shoulders and pushed him away just enough so he could see his face.

"Chris," he said softly, looking into those brilliant azure eyes. "_You _are my son, my precious little boy. You'll grow to be big and strong one day, but I will always think of you as that tiny little bundle in my arms with the biggest blue eyes I'd ever seen. I loved you so much the day you were born, and it's only grown since then. Nothing you ever do will change the way I love you, and while I will one day grow to love Travis and Carrie as a part of our family, never forget that _you _are my son."

Chris' lip wobbled as he dropped his eyes from his father's kind face. "She hurt me, daddy," he whispered. "She hurt me...she hurt Paige…and you weren't _there_."

Brad ignored the stab of guilt and focused on the root of the problem: that was a conversation for another time. "And you're afraid it will happen again with Debbie?"

He nodded silently, not meeting his father's kind hazel eyes.

"Do you know something, bud?"

"What?" he mumbled.

"Debbie's husband… he hit her, too. A lot. And then he started hitting Travis and Carolyn, and do you know what she did?"

"What did she do?"

"Her old husband was drunk, and she fought him off, waited for him to pass out. And then she packed up the kids and went straight to the cops. Her husband was a cop, you know, and she was afraid they wouldn't believe her. But they did. She stood up to him and told him if he ever, ever came near her or the kids again… she wouldn't hesitate to shoot him."

Chris finally looked up at him, eyes wide. "Really?" he breathed.

"Really," Brad promised with a half-smile. "She used to be afraid of men… we were friends before, you know, son. She needs me, and I need her… and you need a mom, even if you don't want one. But if you don't want her to be your mom, buddy, that's okay. She can just be your friend." He tweaked his boy's nose with a little half-smile. "So will you just promise me… promise me you'll give her a chance? Can you do that?"

"I can try," Chris whispered, throwing his arms around his dad's neck and squeezing tight.

Brad swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat and enfolded his boy in his arms. "I'm so proud of you, son," he whispered in Chris' hair. "You've protected your sisters, you've helped out grandpa… you're there for them when I can't be."

Chris buried his face in the curve of his dad's neck and shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered as the tears leaked out.

"Shh," Brad soothed, holding his boy to him as tightly as he dared. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You're the greatest son I could ever ask for."

"I love you, daddy."

Brad pressed his cheek to the top of his head. "I love you, too, buddy." He chuckled softly. "Now, how about we go find those sisters of yours, huh? Before they burn down the barn trying to find you."

Chris pulled back, arms still around Brad's neck, and as far as the father was concerned, his boy's grin was better than sunshine.

* * *

><p><em>One day later<em>

Debbie was sitting in the kitchen when she heard the door open and close. Expecting Brad, she turned with a smile on her face and was a little shocked to see Chris standing there, staring at her.

"Hey, Chris," she greeted him, ignoring the little jump of her heart as she wiped her hands on a towel. "Is everything okay?"

"Did your husband really hit you?" wondered Chris.

It took every ounce of her self-control not to stare open-mouthed at the boy. Good Lord, he was a direct little thing. Well, smallish, anyway. He towered over Travis, and they were the same age.

"Yes," she replied crisply, looking down. "Why do you ask?'

"My mom beat me," said Chris. Those cerulean eyes bored into her. It always felt as if those eyes were boring down straight to her soul.

"I know, honey."

"Don't call me honey," Chris corrected automatically, feeling a little bad as he watched her face fall. "Where you scared? When he hit you?"

"Very scared, Christopher."

Chris scuffed his shoe on the floor. "I was scared too," he whispered brokenly.

"I know," Debbie whispered back, watching as his shoulders started to shake. She rushed forward and enfolded the boy in a hug, squeezing him tightly against her as the mothering instict took hold. "Oh, sweetheart, I know. Shh," she soothed, even as tears trickled down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Chris sobbed, pressing his face into her stomach. "I was just scared. I didn't mean it. I don't' hate you."

Debbie continued to soothe him, running her fingers through his hair. "You were so brave, sweetheart," she whispered to him. "So brave. But you don't have to be brave anymore. It's okay. You're safe. I promise, I will _never _hurt you. Not ever."

Chris relaxed and wound his arms around her waist, realizing for the first time that this… this was what it was like to have a mom.

He didn't love her as a mom…not yet. But maybe, one day, he would.

* * *

><p><em>Thunder Creek, WY<em>  
>June 1, 1991<p>

It was summer in Thunder Creek again, and as far as the town was concerned, it was time to prepare for all-out invasion. They were ready for the horde that would descend upon their normally peaceful land the second summer began.

The matches and lighters were put on the tallest shelves available to keep them far out of reach. If none of said shelves were available, well, the townsfolk built them. Urged to by the fire department, buckets of water were strategically placed next to anything remotely flammable. And first aid kits were passed out to anybody and everybody who wanted them, and when it was Bruce Clayborne handing them out, well, it wasn't as if there was much choice involved. It was either take it or he shoved it down your throat.

By the time everyone was set to arrive, John and Mary had everything bomb proofed and ready. The house had been scrubbed top to bottom and then some (though why she bothered John did not know, as the mud monsters would filthy it up again in a jiffy). The king-sized bed had been fit with sheets―army themed, this year―and a pile of all favorite blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals. The balls and other games had been scrubbed clean, placed in a giant bucket, and strategically dropped beside the barn doors.

The Clayborne, Newbern, and Knox kids were lined up on the porch, gripping the rail tightly, eyes glued on the end of the drive for the first glimpse of friends not seen since April. For family not seen since April.

And for kids their age, well, waiting two months was a lifetime.

Paige was so excited she could barely stand still. At age ten, she'd shot up like a weed from five feet to five foot three in two months. She now had the adolescent awkward body of someone who grew too much too fast, with gangly limbs, knobby knees, and pointy elbows. Her frame held muscle, lithe muscle that wrapped her limbs, made strong from lifting and riding and swimming and running as she had pretty much all year, keeping up with the boys.

Noah, half-smile on his lips, tugged gently on the end of her braid. "Jumping up and down won't make them get here any faster, baby cakes," he pointed out.

She shushed him and slapped his hand away, never removing her eyes from the drive. Summer and Ally _and_ Connie were coming today, and while the guys were great, hanging out with nobody but them all the time got really annoying after a while. She missed her sisters, all except Claire of course as she was around all the time, but then Claire was so much younger there wasn't much she could do with her, anyway.

Rolling his eyes, Noah took hold of her braid in his hand, gently keeping it in his grasp. He had no doubt that as soon as dust appeared, she'd take off sprinting down the drive like a yearling chasing a butterfly, no doubt tripping over a rock and skinning her knee for the hundredth time in the process.

The impatient group of eleven waited ten more minutes before a familiar white limo turned onto the drive. Barely containing their excitement, the horde exchanged excited grins.

All adults present stepped onto the porch just in time to witness this, exchanging smiles themselves. None thought that the closeness these children shared was odd, in fact, in a hunting community, it was to be expected. They looked after their own.

Within the limo, Ally was vibrating she was bouncing her knees up and down so fast, eyes glued on the porch and the familiar forms of her sibs. She was nervous all of a sudden when she noticed their expressions were impassive, and that Noah was holding Paige back while Theo looked on with a good frown. Jeremy was just as excited, spotting Cole and Claire among the faces turned in their direction.

Tony and Maribeth got out first, taking a moment to brush out their clothing before smiling and waving at the children on the porch. Tony winked at Brad and grinned, putting an arm around his wife's shoulders to pull her off to the side and out of the Danger Zone.

"Tony what are you doing?" Maribeth protested, spotting her godchildren on the porch among many other familiar faces she had not seen in a good long while.

"Just wait for it, honey," Tony replied, twinkle in his eye as Jeremy jumped down from the limo and paused with Ally a half-step behind him.

"Wait for what?"

Maribeth's question was answered a moment later when, with a roar fit enough to deafen an already deaf person, the children on the porch raced forward. It was a mass of limbs and grins and her children being spun around in circles by various boys. The noise got louder as each talked over the other, enthusiastically recounting the events of their time apart, telling stories, cracking jokes, Theo physically dragging Carrie and Travis into the fray to introduce them, and marveling at how short Ally's hair was and how much Jeremy had grown.

And, she noticed with a half-hearted huff, not a damn one of them paid the least bit of attention to her _or _Tony.

"Don't take it personally, Beth," Brad drawled, striding over with his wife of six months, Debbie, tucked into his side. "They forgot all about us in about a second flat, too." He chuckled and released his wife to hug her, clapping Tony on the shoulder. "Good drive?"

"Good enough, if you forget Allyson asking when we were going to get there every two minutes."

"Eh, kids will be kids."

"Speaking of kids… I hear you have an announcement?" Tony drawled, one eyebrow raising as Debbie blushed faintly.

Brad shot his friend a fierce frown to show he disapproved of Tony's tactics. Tony just grinned.

"I'm pregnant, yes," Debbie said, glancing up at Brad, encouraged by his smile. "The children don't know yet. Travis and Carrie didn't like Chris, Paige, and Claire much at first, but they seem to have cemented as siblings."

Tony's smile was kind as he tilted his head in the direction of the mob of kids still making quite a racket. "That group is very accepting of those they view as family," he said soothingly. "Never fear, Deb, Noah and those boys will look after them. They have quite the reputation already."

"So I've heard," Debbie sighed, leaning into her husband's side as a suburban pulled onto the drive as well, parking next to the limo.

Connie jumped out before it had even stopped rolling, sprinted forward, and launched herself straight into the middle of the mob, laughing like a loon as Theo caught her, swung her around, and tossed her at Elliot like she was a football. Her parents exited the vehicle, smiling and shaking their heads, placing four-year-old Katie down to join her siblings as well. Noah wasted no time lifting her onto his hip to keep her away from stray elbows and knees, tickling her sensitive belly and dropping a brotherly kiss on the crown of her thick brown curls.

"Bill, Karen," said Brad as the couple walked up. "Nice drive? Connie drive you nutts?"

"I will never give her soda again," Karen swore with a laugh. "I thought she was going to explode from the energy and sugar rush combined. It was like watching a squirrel on crack."

The adults laughed, watching as yet another suburban pulled up, parked, and out of that vehicle flew two brown-head kids who disappeared into the group before identification could be made. David and Theresa climbed down a moment later, laughing as they made their way over to the parent group.

"This is madness," David announced, thumping Brad and Tony on the shoulder, nodding to Bill and Karen, and throwing an arm around his wife's shoulders. "I wanted to knock Kyle and Summer out, they were being so damned irritating."

"Same," each parent echoed.

"Where's Bruce?" Theresa wondered, scanning the considerable crowd for the tall, blonde-haired, broody hunter.

"Inside," Brad replied, grinning, "he cussed in front of my mom and got drafted into kitchen duty."

The adults had a good laugh about that, eyes directing to the porch as John appeared and sauntered down the steps, nodding at his fellow hunters, godsons, friends, etc.

"I see everyone made it alright," he called, deep voice booming out across the field. The horde paused, exchanged glances, and with huge grins, launched themselves at him as a single unit with a united cry of "GRANDPA!"

"Oh, hell," John sighed, hoping they wouldn't break something as he braced himself seconds before he was tackled straight into the dirt by his over-enthusiastic grandchildren.

…

Dinner was ready to be served at six, by which time, the kids had all been re-acquainted. Mary ushered them all inside (she'd received a likewise enthusiastic greeting, though without the tackling―John was still rubbing his sore backside) like a mother would her chicks, closing the door behind her.

Four tables had been borrowed from neighbors and shoved together to make room for everyone. Shoes were kicked off into a mini-mountain beside the front door as the kids made a beeline for the dining room.

Mothering, as it turned out, was not needed, and Maribeth, Theresa, Karen, and Debbie weren't quite sure what to make of that. Before they could even open their mouths to give orders, the kids were seated at the half of the table farthest from the kitchen, had napkins in their laps, and were holding up their glasses for Noah and Theo to fill with milk.

Feeling slightly dejected, the mothers sat down with their husbands, giving their offspring puzzled looks. Napkins and sitting nicely on their bottoms had never gone over this easily before.

"It's Noah," John explained patiently to the disgruntled mothers.

"What about him?" demanded Bruce, eyes narrowing. He had a fine boy, a fine boy indeed, who did what he needed to without having to be asked, who looked after his siblings, and who would jump to their defense in any matter, even to save their lives. The mere indication that his boy had done anything even remotely wrong was so fu―

"Relax," advised John, easily reading the thoughts going through the tall hunter's head. "I meant, look at them."

The adults did. The children were ignoring all adults present, in fact, damned if every set of eyes wasn't directed on Noah as he poured the milk and handed them their glasses.

"They look up to him," continued John, smiling, "as he's the oldest and self-proclaimed leader. They adore him."

This much was true. There had been a rock-paper-scissors fight over who got to sit next to Noah and Chris. Paige and Summer had won, leaving the girls on either side of Noah with Chris on Summer's other side. Neither girl knew, but they were predictable in the game, and the rest of the kids had let them win because since the drowning incident, the bond between the four had strengthened more than ever. Not to mention Noah would probably kick their asses if they even considered making either Paige or Summer upset. He—and Chris as well—tended to get unnaturally violent when it came to their protection.

Noah and Theo had finished pouring milk by now and sat down at the table, folding their hands and waiting for Mary to start a prayer.

Mary smiled at her wonderful grandchildren, and started her prayer. It was good to have everyone home. She opened her mouth and then paused, frowning as she peered out the windows that faced the drive.

"John," she said conversationally, "is there someone else coming I don't know about?"

John frowned and followed her gaze. "No," he said simply, peering at the pair of headlights headed their way. He stood up and walked to the window to see better, aware of the children curiously craning their necks to see as a black car came into view.

It wasn't just _any _black car.

It was a 1967 Chevy Impala.

There was only one hunter in the Brotherhood who drove that.

"It's John Winchester," said Brad, surprise evident in his voice as he joined his father by the window.

"I wonder what in the hell he wants," John muttered, heading for the front door. Brad, smiling slightly, was only a half a step behind him.

The kids exchanged glances, all of them wondering the same thing:

Who the heck was John Winchester?

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: There's fourteen. After this we have Dean and Sam in... *drumroll*... Thunder Creek! :D

**REVIEWS=LOVE!  
>:D<strong>


	14. John Winchester's Worst Nightmare

**A/N**: Short one, and you're going to hate me, but we need the Winchester prequel to the big night!

**Disclaimer**: Only own my OCs.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER FORTEEN<br>**John Winchester's Worst Nightmare

_Cody, Wyoming  
><em>June 1, 1991

Dean pushed his body to its limits as he ducked and weaved through tree branches, chasing after the mad, cackling laughter that seemed to echo all around him. They (meaning him, his dad, and Sam) were in Cody, Wyoming, chasing after the ghost of some crazy psycho who'd scalped people back in the Old West.

Needless to say, considering it was pouring rain, the bastard was leading them on a wild goose chase, he was soaked to the skin, and he hadn't slept in twenty-nine hours, Dean was having a bit of a bad day.

Bad hunt, really.

Scratch that, bad _life_. But it was Sam's first 'official' hunt. Meaning, of course, he'd gotten to help them clean the guns. And that was it. ("DAD, **STOP** TREATING ME LIKE I'M A BABY!" "**DAMN IT, SAMUEL, YOU **_**ARE**_** MY BABY**!") He was armed to the teeth and currently sulking in their motel room, locked in and barricaded for an apocalypse.

The cackling got louder, somewhere to his left. Dean leveled the shotgun and squinted through the haze of the rain, suddenly realizing that he couldn't hear his dad's grunts from digging the grave not ten feet behind him. "Dad?" he said clearly, not wanting to scream it. "Dad?" he tried again, louder.

There was no response.

Gulping, Dean squinted harder, but given the conditions and the lack of moonlight, all he had was a measly flashlight and a shotgun loaded with rock salt for protection. He couldn't see his dad, but the wind was hollering up a storm.

Cackling again, on his right this time. He spun, keeping the shotgun level.

"Come out and face me, coward," he shouted into the gloom, half-hoping the damn asshole would do just that. They usually didn't.

This time, however, it did.

Screaming like a banshee, the spirit rushed him, knife brandishing wildly. Dean was so startled by the dude's sudden appearance, that he stumbled back a step and fired, missing by an inch. He saw stubbed, yellow teeth, black gums, thin chapped lips pulled into a sneer, and crazy, milk-white eyes, before burning pain erupted in his leg and side and he went down hard in the muddy soil.

He screamed, and sincerely hoped a second later that his dad hadn't heard.

"DEAN!"

Ah, there he was. Dean _knew _he was back in that general direction somewhere.

And that was the last thing he remembered before his vision blacked out.

"DEAN!" John yelled again, hitting the bastard center mass with a rock salt round. He fell to his knees beside his boy, hauling him into his lap. He felt something warm and pulled his hand away, horrified to find it stained red with blood. Dean's blood.

_His son was bleeding_.

"Damn it, Dean," said John desperately, frantically searching for the wound. It only took a moment: stab wound through the arm, slashes on his left calf. The arm wound was so deep he could see layers of fat and muscle. The blood was coming too fast…too fast. He had to get a pressure bandage on it. Now.

The spirit would have to wait.

John gathered up all their equipment and slung his boy's unconscious form over his shoulder. He fired another round at the spirit to keep it busy, and hurriedly lowered Dean into the front seat, gunning it the second he was in the driver's seat. The Impala was warded against spirits, he wasn't worried about that.

It was almost four in the morning when he made it back to the hotel. He pounded the door with a booted foot, Dean's body cradled in his arms. The boy's complexion was pale, sickly, almost. Damn it, he never should have let Dean come along. He was too young.

"Sam!" he shouted through the door. "It's me and Dean, open up!"

The chain released, and Sam appeared, spitting mad at being left behind. The anger promptly faded to be replaced with panic. "Dad!" he gasped. "_What happened to Dean_?"

"He got hurt," said John curtly as he kicked the door shut behind him and lowered Dean to the couch. "Sam, go boil some water on the stove, and get the medical kit." He ran to the bag and salted all the doors and windows, just in case the spirit decided to make an appearance. This far from his haunt sight, it was unlikely, but John wasn't taking any chances.

Sam rushed off without argument, for once. John carefully peeled Dean's clothes off, until he was in only his boxers and a plain white short-sleeved T-shirt. The pendant he always wore was dark against the pale skin at the hollow of his throat. He carefully lifted Dean, placing a tarp beneath him to keep the blood off the furniture; he didn't want to have to explain it.

The boy returned with the medical kit as John was examining his arm wound.

"How bad is it dad?" Eight-year-old Sam wiped the tears from his cheeks. "Dad? Will he be okay?"

"Go get me that hot water, Sammy," John said gruffly, setting about stanching the blood. Dean would need stitches. He'd seen many injuries in the marines, sowed his own wounds shut more than once. But this one was _bad_. It was jagged and inflamed, and oozing blood. He didn't have the skill to adequately patch it up without risking infection to Dean's arm.

Sam obeyed. John cleaned it the best he could before moving onto the slashes in his boy's calf. He cleaned that, too, let it bleed for a moment just in case anything had gotten in the wound, and deftly applied pressure bandages. He wrapped Dean up in a blanket and carried him to the back seat of the Impala, leaving Sammy there to watch over him while John methodically packed up all his gear, research, and the boys' things. In a matter of minutes they were rolling out onto the highway, Sam leaning over the back seat, eyes fixed on his big brother's face.

"Dad will he be okay?" Sam said fearfully, reaching out a tiny hand to brush Dean's forehead. "Is he gonna die?"

"He's not going to die," said John firmly. "Come on, bud, either sit down or climb in back with him."

Sam didn't need telling twice. He vaulted into the back seat and rested his brother's head in his lap. Dean's forehead was warmer than usual. "Come on, Dean," he whispered, "you gotta get better."

They drove in silence for a while.

"Dad where are we going?" Sam wondered as the Impala pulled off the interstate.

"To a friend," said John vaguely. "You just keep your eye on him, son."

"Okay," Sam agreed, scanning the dark landscape around them. It was pretty much all black, until they turned on a gravel drive. There were two buildings in the distance. "Where are we?"

"It's called Thunder Creek, Sam," John said shortly, parking beside a black truck. The door opened before he shut off the engine, and several men poured onto the porch.

"Dad, who're they?"

"Friends, Sam." John opened the door and got out, fixing his gaze on John. "John," he said shortly, "it's Dean. He's hurt. I can't risk a hospital."

John and several other men rushed down the steps at that.

"What happened?" the oldest man demanded, peering through the glass at the two boys.

"Spirit got him. I told him I didn't want him to come, but… damn it, John, I let him convince me, and look what happened," John said, threading his fingers through his hair. "It was that crazy ass spirit you sent me after, got him with his knife. I can't sew it, it's too ragged."

"Mary used to be a nurse," John Newbern assured the younger man. "Brad, Bruce, help me get the boy out and carry him upstairs. John, you come with me."

"I can't," said John. "I have to go back and kill that bastard…he hurt my son. I have to finish the job." He was torn between staying with his son, and going after the thing that hurt him. "John…can you watch my boys for me? Just for a few days. Please. I…the spirit will hurt more people if I don't stop it."

"Okay," agreed John, holding up his hands. "Relax, Winchester. Everything will be okay. We'll take care of Dean. You stay in contact, you hear?"

"I hear, _signore_," John said, slumping his shoulders in relief. He turned to watch Bruce Clayborne and Brad Newbern carefully lift his son to a stretcher (he hadn't seen anyone bring it out) and strap him down before moving into the house. Sam was left standing there beside the Impala, eyes wide with confusion and fear.

"Sammy," he said, crouching down before his youngest son, placing his big calloused hands on Sam's thin shoulders. "I have to go get the bad guy who hurt Dean, okay? You stay here with the Newbern family, okay? They're nice, they'll look after you."

"Like Bobby?" said Sam, glancing up at John.

"Yeah, buddy, like Bobby. Okay?"

"Okay," Sam whispered, grinding his sneaker toe into the gravel. "Will you be back soon?"

"Yeah, buddy. You just stay with John and his family, okay? He's got some grandkids your age. Right?"

John nodded and smiled down at the boy. "Sam, is it?" he said gently. He put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, sonny, there's dinner on the table for ya. We'll get some good homemade food in you while my wife takes care of that big brother of yours, alright?"

"Alright," Sam agreed, hugging his dad before and smiling bravely. "Bye, dad." He reached up and took the aging rancher's hand.

"Come on, sonny," said John gently, as the Impala's engine roared to life and John backed out of the driveway with a final wave at Sam before the tail lights flashed and the Impala was disappearing down the drive.

Sam took a deep breath and stepped into the house after the nice old man. He squeezed shyly into his side when they entered a giant dining room. There were a bunch of kids sitting at the back end of the table.

"Kids," said John, a warning in his voice, "this here is Sam Winchester. He's eight, and his big brother is hurt. Your grandma is taking care of him right now." He pointed a sharp look at the biggest blonde boy. "You treat him like you treated Ally, and so help me God, I will beat you. You got me?"

"Yes, grandpa," the horde said meekly.

"Come on, everyone. Come introduce yourselves."

Sam's eyes widened as the horde approached, the big blonde-haired boy in the lead, and he clung just a little tighter to Mr. Newbern's warm, calloused hand.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Hey, y'all. Just wanted to get the reasons and stuff out there… the true interacting happens next chapter! Whee! I am on ROLL for posting, this is AWESOME! And I am also sacrificing sleep, because I love you all so much. I have to be up for PT in 6 hours, where I will undoubtedly die. Again. I'm STILL sore from Monday... it's like Hell Week all over again, only on steroids. x.X

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
>:D<strong>


	15. Worlds Collide

**A/N**: And here we have it, the second meeting of Paige Newbern and Dean Winchester, even if he won't remember a vast majority of it. Or, for that matter, 99.9 percent of it…. *insert evil grin*

**Side note:** Finals week upcoming guys, so if I get another FTGF out before 9 December, it will be a miracle. Don't expect it but I'll do my best! Love to all!

**Disclaimer**: I own everything except Dean and Kripke's characters.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fifteen<br>**Worlds Collide

**Thunder Creek, WY  
><strong>June 1, 1991

The first night was the worst.

Paige and Mary had their work cut out for them. Dean thrashed in terrible nightmares, only aided by the fever, forcing them to pin him down to prevent him ripping his newly-applied-stitches. He screamed and hollered things that made no sense yet broke their hearts.

"No…mom…" Dean moaned, trying to thrash again. His eyes were flickering madly beneath his eyelids, head twisting from side to side as his expression twisted in agony.

"Shh," Paige whispered, reaching up to gently smooth her fingers over his blazing forehead. "Grandma, he's still really hot," she said, glancing over to where her grandmother was standing wetting more washcloths.

"He's in for one rough night," Mary replied, glancing up briefly. "Where is your grandfather with that ice? I swear he is slower than molasses…"

Dean's eyes suddenly snapped open, and his fist lashed up, catching Paige in her left eye. The ten-year-old let out a startled cry and fell on her butt, scrambling back up to help her grandma restrain him. Brad hurried in to help, making their life much easier as he was far stronger than his young daughter.

"You alright, honey?" said Brad worriedly, bending down to kiss the top of her head.

"Fine," grumbled Paige, rubbing her face. "I'm gonna have a black eye, an' Noah's gonna want to _kill _him."

"He didn't mean it," said Mary with a sigh, "he's caught in the fever, dear. He probably thought you were a nightmare out of his dreams."

"Lovely," sniped Paige, rolling her eyes. She scowled at her dad and grandma. "Noah's _still_ gonna kill him, though."

* * *

><p>Dean awoke slowly, as if from a very good dream that tried to hold him under as long as possible. His body felt strange… warm and comfortable, but at the same time, aching all over. His tired brain registered the soft feel of a sheet between his fingers, a fluffy pillow supporting his head, and something cool resting against the skin of his forehead.<p>

It was dark, though. Sluggishly, he realized that was because his eyes were closed, so he groggily forced them open, more than a little startled to find himself gazing at a ceiling painted with star constellations. He wasn't outside though. The soft yellow glow of artificial light spilled across his dark blue comforter. Brow furrowing in confusion, vision slightly blurry, he painfully turned his head just a little to the side.

A small person was standing at a table against the wall to his left. Blonde hair was pulled into an immaculate braid that hung down her back. He assumed it was a girl, anyway. Most guys didn't have hair quite this long. There was a big white bowl on said table. Through half-lidded eyes he observed her wringing out a washcloth.

When she turned, his confusion spiked higher.

She had bright blue eyes that were hauntingly familiar. When she leaned over him, reaching for the cool compress, he noticed how her eyelashes were blonde at the tips and dark at the ends, framing those eyes.

The girl seemed oblivious to his silent study of her, and gently pulled the washcloth off his forehead, replacing it with a second that she tenderly pressed into place, fingers ghosting over his temples.

"He awake yet, sweetheart?" a motherly voice said from the doorway.

"No, grandma," the girl whispered, tossing the soiled wash cloth into a hamper behind her. "His stitches look good, though. They're not infected. You go on ahead to bed, now. I'll stay with him."

"Sweetie pie, you don't need to stay up with him. I can."

"But grandma," the girl whispered, "if I'm going to be a nurse, I might as well learn somewhere. Right?"

A sigh from the doorway, followed by a, "Very well, dear, but if you get tired you come wake up me or grandpa. Okay?"

"Okay, grandma."

And the room was silent again. Dean drifted off to sleep as those same fingers massaged his forearm gently, sharp tugs indicating the presence of stitches. He didn't care, though; was too tired to care. The drugs lulled him off before he could even say a word.

The next time he awoke, he was more lucid. He squinted up at the ceiling, quickly remembered where he was—which was to say, he did not know where he was, but he was in the same room as before—and quickly remembered the girl, too.

She was in a chair beside his bed, a red, comfortable looking one, with a book propped up in her lap. There were black lines under her eyes that looked vaguely like war paint. He wondered why. It was a little strange.

"What're you readin'?" he mumbled, voice hoarse from disuse. He squinted against the artificial light—it was still dark out, so either he hadn't slept long or he'd slept all day—and couldn't help but chuckle a bit when she jumped in surprise, nearly ripping her book in two. Startled blue eyes flew to his, and he was against struck by how damn _pretty _they were. And again, the itching feeling at the back of his mind that this wasn't the first time he'd seen them. But he was sure he'd remember having met her before… wouldn't he?

It certainly felt like it.

"_Moby Dick_," the girl replied, leaning over to peer at him closer.

"Ah, the adventures of Captain Ahab," he mused, coughing at the end of his sentence, throat dry as sandpaper from disuse.

"How do you feel?"

"Peachy," he grumbled, trying to lift his hand to rub his eyes.

A warm hand closed around his wrist, holding his arm firmly in place. "Don't move just yet," the girl said softly. "You'll probably pull a stitch."

"Where'm I?"

Her lips curved at his slurred speech, very common for injured, drugged, confused people, especially this boy. Paige wondered what Noah would think, if he knew she'd spent the entire night alone in a stranger's company when he was half-naked. Probably kill her. She didn't understand his reaction to boys around her―boys were gross and mean and she didn't like them much, anyway, but he always acted like they were trying to _eat _her or something.

"This is my brother's old bedroom," she explained quietly, pressing another cool cloth to his forehead. "You're in Thunder Creek, Wyoming. You got attacked by a spirit."

Aah, a hunter's kid like him, then.

"Do you remember what happened before you got here?" the girl continued.

Dean thought for a moment, brow furrowing. "Dunno," he grunted. "Hunting. I 'member tha'. M' shotgun… missed… the spirit knocked me over, and… that's all."

Nodding, Paige gently slipped an arm around his shoulders and helped him sit up. "Careful," she murmured, settling him against the pillows. "The spirit got you pretty good. You have a four-inch gash in your leg that took nine stitches, a three-inch slice in your upper arm, and severe bruising down your back and chest. He walloped you."

"How'daget'ere?" he mumbled, staring up at her. The world was spinning, but he felt little pain; guess that meant they had him pumped with some pretty powerful medications. "Why's your face painted?"

"War games," Paige replied with a perfectly straight face, not a bit fazed by the rapid change of topic. "Grandpa is training us to be hunters this summer. I'm a little young, but I convinced him to let me come along, too." She pulled the sheets up and folded them at his waist. "Your dad dropped you off here three days ago. My grandma stitched you up and we've been looking after you since. Your dad left you here with us."

"Mmmkay," he mumbled as his eyelids drooped shut again. He forced them open. "Wazzurname?"

"Paige," she replied quietly as she picked his book back up again. "Go back to sleep, Dean."

The last thing he saw was the picture of the whale on the cover of her book.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, Wyoming<strong>  
>June 2, 1991<p>

Sam did _not _like it here.

The other kids were big and loud and mean and _scary_. He wanted Dean back, wanted his brother to wake up. He sat with him most days but Dean never woke up and that blonde girl never left his bedside, either, and neither did the grandma, Mary.

He wanted his dad and he wanted his brother and he wanted to go back to _normal_. He didn't feel right with these people, didn't feel right in this big house. In fact, he spent most of the day curled up in the library with a book refusing to talk to anyone, and the other kids pretty much left him alone. This place was too weird for him to be okay here.

* * *

><p>John Newbern crossed his arms and observed the quiet boy curled in his armchair by the fireplace. "He's been tearing through my books, Brad," he said conversationally. "That kid is so far beyond the realm of normal, it's not even funny. He won't even <em>talk<em>. For the life of me, Mary and I have tried everything, but he just won't _do_ anything! He doesn't want to talk, or eat, or play, he just wants to sit there reading his stupid books. What the kid _needs _is some serious therapy…"

Brad rolled his eyes and snapped his journal shut. Fat chance he would get much work done today, anyway. "He's just quiet," he defended the little boy. "I'm betting Dean virtually raised the boy, and John is supposed to be a stable rock…both are now gone. So he's shut down, cut himself off. He doesn't trust us, is afraid to be around us."

"Exactly. I called Bobby. He'll be here to pick up the kid tomorrow, I feel like we're just making this worse for him," he sighed, plopping down in the chair across the desk from Brad. "John will be by to pick up Dean when he's done with the hunt."

"How much longer does he think he's going to be?"

"Another two days at the least."

"How's Dean doing?"

"He's better," Brad replied, tucking the journal back into its proper place. "His fever finally broke last night. Hopefully when he wakes up again he'll be fully lucid. Mary's been feeding him and getting water in him every time he's conscious enough to do so. So far he hasn't been awake for more than fifteen minutes at a time…the infection in his leg really got him down for a while." He shrugged. "He's a strong kid, he'll pull through."

"Well, I suppose I better put the shotguns away then," John mused, getting to his feet. "God knows I have an incredible urge to shoot Bobby in the ass with one every damn time he walks through my door."

Brad was chuckling as his father left the room, muttering under his breath the entire way.

* * *

><p>Dean's dreams were of epic battles between a whale and a crew of men on a lone ship in the middle of the ocean, and when he woke, he was a little surprised to have sunshine on his face. He felt great―hungry. Really, really hungry, he noticed. Why was he so hungry? And, better yet, where the heck was he?<p>

He blinked and squinted out the window. He could see rolling fields that went right to massive mountains, clouds dotting the clear blue sky, brown and black dots in the distance. Cows maybe? He had no idea.

Reaching for a glass of water on the bedside table, he hissed at the sharp pain in his bicep. Confused, he used his other hand to carefully pull his sleeve up and out of the way, only to discover a line of sutures covered in some kind of weird brown paste.

"Don't touch that," a sharp voice said.

Dean's eyes snapped to an aging woman with brown hair fashioned in a perm and kind hazel eyes. She carefully moved his arm back down.

"You might pull a stitch. It's good to see you awake, sweetie. I'm Mary Newbern," she explained, gently taping gauze over the sutures. "The paste is iodine…to help prevent infection," she added helpfully. "We've been taking care of you since your dad dropped you off."

He squinted up at her, trying to remember. There were vague recollections but nothing decisive… he remembered a blonde girl, something about _Moby Dick_, star constellations, war paint…and pain. Lots and lots of pain.

"If you don't remember, that's alright, sweetie," Mary said, helping prop him up on pillows. "We were giving you morphine for the pain and sedatives so you would rest. Your dad will be here in a little bit to get you, he's satisfied that you're out of the woods and just need rest now."

"Sammy?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with his good hand. "Where's m'brother?"

"With Bobby Singer, dear," Mary explained, helping him sip some water. "He felt more comfortable around Bobby so my husband had him come pick up the little guy. He was awfully scared, seemed a lot happier as soon as that old crankybutt showed up."

Dean grinned a little―Bobby was definitely a crankybutt, not that he'd ever tell Bobby to his face; he didn't want to get up close and personal with the older man's shotgun, thanks very much. Images flashed through his head, confusing him all the further as he watched the older woman putter about the room.

"Angel?" he whispered, remembering blue eyes and a gentle voice.

"No angels, honey," Mary said quietly, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. He was still a little warmer than she would have liked.

"Blonde girl," Dean insisted, fighting to keep his eyes open. He was suddenly fatigued and didn't know why; almost as if he'd expended what little energy he had left. "Eyes…I know those eyes."

"My granddaughter, Paige, is the only girl who's been in here with you, sweetie," said Mary, concerned. Dean was fading fast, but that was common. He needed lots of sleep for his body to get better, couldn't stand more than a few minutes of wakefulness at a time and never seemed to remember much of when he actually _was_ awake. The boy was nearly asleep. "But I suppose yes, she was your guardian angel, wasn't she?"

Dean was asleep again, and Mary just smiled gently and pressed another cool washcloth to the boy's head.

* * *

><p>John Winchester arrived six hours later, long after nightfall, ready to pick up his sick son. He was still pale but glad to hear that the worst of the infection was past. He let John and Brad carry Dean to the car and settle him in for the drive, listening all the while to Mary's strict instructions on Dean's care and to call her if anything went wrong.<p>

He would do that, of course―she was the Mother of the Brotherhood, as silly as that sounded; but it was true that if anyone needed medical advice the first person they asked was Mary Newbern. She just had a knack for it; probably came with a lifetime of stitching up her hunter relatives.

Dean's bags were untouched, except for one thing on the top he didn't remember being there before. He frowned, thanked John, Mary, and their families, and left with his sleeping son still zonked out in the backseat.

* * *

><p>"Sweetie?" Mary said, bending down to look her granddaughter in the face. Newbern and Company had been standing on the porch watching the Impala disappear from sight. "He said last time he was awake that he knew you from somewhere, that you were familiar to him. Did you know him?"<p>

Paige cocked her head to the side, thinking. "He reminds me of a little boy who came to see me when I was in the hospital after Garrett died," she said, brow furrowing in intense thought. "But I dunno if he's the same, grandmamma, I was little then and I'm big now."

"I understand," Mary said, kissing the top of her blonde head. "Why don't you come help me get dinner on the table, huh? I know you love helping me make roasts."

The girl's eyes lit up as she followed her grandma into the house. Brad and John watched them go.

"I didn't think she'd remember," Brad mused, turning to look at his father. "Jesus, dad, she was only four."

"You'd be surprised what little minds remember," said John, as the Impala disappeared from sight altogether. "Dean remembered her, too, even if he didn't know who she was. The moments with you in that house were probably the only glimpse of normal he's known since his mother was killed."

"Do me a favor and keep a closer eye on those boys, would you, dad?"

"Sure thing, son."

"Thanks."

Brad disappeared into the house, and John was left contemplating the Winchesters and their future role in the Brotherhood. If all went well, and everything fell into place, he suspected Dean Winchester would be sitting on the Council one day―somehow, he just knew that boy would be a better hunter than John ever was.

* * *

><p>Noah was pissed as hell that someone had given his baby sis a black eye―nobody got away with that―but Paige wouldn't tell him where she got it, and after a while, he just gave in and promised himself he'd keep a closer eye on her.<p>

So, when he asked her where the copy of _Moby Dick _he'd gotten her for Christmas last year went, she just smiled, shrugged, and tapped her black eye before racing off to the stables, leaving a befuddled Noah in his wake.

Somehow, he suspected it was that Winchester kid who had punched her.

He'd noticed over the last couple of years that his dad's new favorite catch phrase was switching from SUCK DIRT AND DIE YOU BASTARD to GODDAMN JOHN WINCHESTER (exclamation points times a thousand).

Hmm.

It seemed he needed to find out who this Winchester dude was, anyway… after all, he _did _have a badass car. And, Noah might possibly as in absolutely have to kill Dean Winchester one day in the unforeseeable future…

* * *

><p><em>One week later<em>

Dean Winchester was tired of lying in bed, but his dad was being stubborn and insisting he rest. Really, his wounds didn't hurt all that much anymore, as long as he didn't twist and stress them too much. Sighing, he searched through his bag out of sheer boredom, surprised when his fingers brushed over a cool smooth surface. He gripped it and pulled it out, staring down at a well-loved copy of _Moby Dick._

It stirred some distant memory. Blonde hair, blue eyes, dimpled smile...but that was it. He closed his eyes, trying to remember, but didn't have a clue why this book conjured those glimpses and the comforting smells of cinnamon, laundry detergent, and something else entirely that he couldn't put his finger on. He ran his fingers over the cover, tracing the outline of the whale, pondering the last few weeks and how little he remembered. His dad had said he'd dropped him off with some medically-inclined friends, but had left it at that. For some reason, though, he kept seeing those three flashes, as well as a long-ago memory of a deep soothing voice and a big hand rubbing his back so he would fall asleep. He'd thought it was Bobby, but now he knew it was someone else...someone tall, with dark hair and friendly hazel eyes...white teeth...crow's feet around his eyes. A boy with dark hair and blue eyes being shoved off the end of a hospital bed while they giggled, a scene from Noah's ark hanging over the bed. The squeaking of a white plastic chair being dragged accross linoleum. An older man's hearty chuckle as he ruffled his hair. A kind older woman who called him sweetie and kissed his forehead, telling him stories like his mom had all those years ago.

Random glimpses of random people he desperately wanted to remember, but couldn't. Not in excessive detail, anyway.

He glanced up. Sam was asleep on the couch and dad was gone for who knew how long. Shrugging, he leaned back against the headboard, opened to the first page, and started to read. Sometime later he slipped into sleep, lulled by those words, book open on his chest as he slept peacefully.

But his dreams, as they had been for the past week, were haunted by those hauntingly familiar blue eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: And their second encounter is over…bwahaha. Oh boy is it going to bug Dean in the coming years, trying to remember who that little girl who helped him was! So fun to torture him… so upcoming we have more solo Dean and Paige chapters (plot development peeps) and their next collision will be when they're a bit older. Hope you enjoyed!

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
>:D<strong>


	16. Jumping Fences

**A/N**: Taking a break from studying…two finals on Tuesday. I think I might die.

**Disclaimer**: Own everything but the Winchesters.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16<br>**Jumping Fences

**Malibu, California  
><strong>Malibu Show Jumping Classic  
><em>June 1, 1992 – Dean &amp; Chris are 13, Paige is 11, Sam &amp; Ally are 9<em>

The show grounds were bustling with activity despite the early hour, horses whinnying and people shouting, the energy in the air almost palpable. The show would start at eight, but everyone was there early getting ready, grooming their horses to perfection, warming them up before their events. Horses were led everywhere, covered by thick blankets to ward off the early morning chill, as the excitement in the air rose.

Paige started grinning. She _loved _the atmosphere of horse shows. They never got old, and she loved them even more every time she came. Shaking herself free of her thoughts, she turned and grabbed a lead rope, watching her dad and grandpa lowering the ramp to their trailer, Ally a half-step behind her.

She moved inside, where three horses were tethered and snorting at her, ears pricked forward in anticipation. They could sense the atmosphere too.

"Morning, Storm," she greeted her horse affectionately, kissing the end of his nose. Storm snorted softly and nuzzled her cheek, ears still pricked forward. "Ready for our big day? We gonna kick some butt and take some names?"

Storm snorted again and backed out of the trailer obediently; throwing his head up the second he was free, looking around with his ears pricked forward. Needless to say, her gelding loved shows as much as she did.

Paige gave a gentle tug on the lead rope and moved him out of the way so that Ally could back out her Danish Warmblood gelding, War Machine, War for short. War was of fantastic breeding and had been a present for Christmas from Ally's grandfather.

Paige tied Storm to the side of their trailer and started to unbuckle his blanket, watching out of the corner of her eye while Ally tied up War and did the same. They'd left Chris' gelding Firefoot in the trailer, he was a bit of a butthead and hard to deal with, and besides, it was Chris' responsibility not thiers.

"I still can't believe our dads are letting us go on the circuit this summer," said Paige, sliding the blanket off of Storm and handing it to her dad, who disappeared back into the trailer.

"I'm happy," Ally grinned, rubbing War's forehead. "Especially since I get War. We'll win our class for sure! Stupid Anna Grayson won't beat me this year."

She grinned at her best friend/sister and started to groom Storm. After all, show jumpers were expected to look neat and perfect.

Brad watched the girls conversing softly with each other while they cared for their horses. He hoped they would do well―with the money put into those two animals, they damn well better―and was really hoping Ally would win this year. She'd lost by a half a second last year to that snobby little brat Anna Grayson.

His phone ringing interrupted his thoughts. He flipped it open.

"Newbern," he said, voice crisp.

"_Brad, its John. I need that information you have for me."_

"I'm at the Malibu Show Jumping Classic, Malibu Show Grounds," he replied, remembering the folder he had in the trailer for Winchester. "Call me when you get here and I'll direct you to where we are."

"_Alright."_

Brad hung up and sighed, glancing at his watch. It was way too early to deal with John freaking Winchester.

* * *

><p>John Winchester parked and looked at the mass of activity, eyes widening.<p>

There. Were. Horses. _Everywhere._

"Dad, why they heck are we here?" Dean wondered, glaring at the horses. He didn't like horses much, hadn't been around them enough to be comfortable.

His dad wasn't paying attention, he was on the phone talking to someone named Newbern and was walking forward _into _the chaos. Go figure. Sighing, Dean followed after him, tugging on Sam to get him to follow.

"They're…pretty," Sam realized, watching with wide eyes as horses cantered around the closest arena, jumping over fences that were set up in intervals. They were big, and graceful, and he liked the way their ears flicked back and forth, the smooth movements of the riders in their saddles, the near-perfect synchronization.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, tugging him to get him going again.

"I hear you," their dad said irritably, stopping and waving for a rider to cross his path. The boy did so, nudging his steel gray horse into a trot.

It seemed to Dean that they were following that steel gray horse. And, as it turns out, they were.

Their dad had hung up the phone by now, and they made their way over to a tall dark-haired man, talking to the boy on the steel gray horse. He was holding the reins, and the boy on the horse had his feet out of the stirrups hanging loosely and was listening to him speak.

"Just remember, Chris, keep your focus," the man was saying. "Firefoot knows what to do. You walked the course, you know the stride counts. You'll do great."

"Thanks, dad," the boy said with a smile, gathering his reins and settling his feet back in the stirrups. "I'm going to go warm up Firefoot. My class is after Paige's."

"Okay," Brad agreed, patting the horse's neck before Chris nudged it to a trot and they were off towards one of the other arenas.

"Dean, Sam, why don't you go sit in the stands and watch while I talk to this guy, okay?" John said forcefully, looking down at his sons.

"Okay," Dean shrugged, noticing the do-not-argue-with-me-now tone of voice. He tugged Sammy towards the stands and sat down to watch. The arena below was scattered with brightly painted jumps set to just under three and a half feet, he would guess. But then it was hard to tell from up here.

A white horse was cantering around the arena, sailing over the jumps. It tapped a pole that fell, and he watched with interest as the pole fell and the horse continued onward, sailing over the remaining jumps.

"That was Whitney Grayson on Stormbound," the announcer said, "finishing at 48.16 seconds, with one fault."

Polite smattering of applause as the horse trotted out of the arena and halted next to an angry-looking woman. Dean was watching his dad talking to the tall man, more specifically, the tall gray-white horse standing next to the tall man. The big guy was waving at John to be quiet while he talked to the girl, who, he noted, had been next to the steel gray one earlier.

"Next up is Paige Newbern on her Dutch Warmblood gelding, Summer Storm," the announcer's voice rang out.

The tall man patted the girl on the thigh, and she gathered her reins and trotted into the arena. Dean realized that her feet barely came halfway down the horse's side; the think was gigantic and she just looked so dang tiny sitting on top of it. It didn't seem to matter, though, as the horse flicked his ears forward.

* * *

><p>Paige's heart was pounding as her name was announced. She looked down at her dad and smiled.<p>

Brad patted her leg. "Kick some ass and take some names, you two," he said, making eye contact with both her and the horse. Storm snorted and tossed his head a little, and Paige gathered her reins and nudged Storm to a trot as she entered the arena at the officials' wave.

"Come on, boy," she told Storm, as one ear flicked forward, the other flicked back, focusing on her. She squeezed her legs and he broke into a smooth canter, going in a circle. They crossed the starting point, and they were off.

Storm sailed over the first jump, not even close to touching the poles. All else faded away, and it became just her and Storm and that ticking clock. She pushed him as fast as she dared, focused on each new jump ahead, adjusting Storm's stride as needed.

The crowd gasped as she took a tight turn and Storm sailed over it at an angle, not even phased, saving them precious seconds. He was listening to her, responding to the slightest touch. Another jump, and another.

It was instinct guiding the horse and rider now; they moved as one, the wind flying in her face. They turned, facing the final fence, and she pushed him still faster, heart pounding―the tallest jump on the course, a double oxer at exactly four feet. Storm gathered himself, launching off the ground, feet tucked neatly underneath him.

And they were over.

The clock stopped and a huge grin broke out on Paige's face.

"That was Paige Newbern on Summer Storm," the announcer said, "with a time of 45.13 seconds. That'll put her in first place, folks!"

Applause broke out, louder than before, and she clapped Storm on the neck as she trotted out of the arena.

"You did great, honey!" Brad praised as she dismounted and threw her arms around Brad's neck. He spun her in a circle, laughing joyfully. "A winning time for sure!"

"Three people still have to go," Paige reminded him, but her grin never faltered. She turned back to her horse and threw her arms around his neck as well, hugging him tightly. "Oh, _good boy _Storm!"

Storm snorted and flicked his ears forward. She just kissed the end of his muzzle and hugged him again, resting her forehead against his, rubbing his chin.

"Such a good boy," she gushed happily, kissing his forehead.

She looked into the stands and was astonished by who she saw. She would recognize those green eyes anywhere.

_Dean._

* * *

><p>Dean watched with interest. There was something familiar about that girl…he couldn't put his finger on it.<p>

"Look at 'em go!" Sam gushed, leaning forward as the big gray-and-white horse all but attacked the course, flying over each obstacle with ease.

Judging by the crowd's reaction, this was a good rider and good horse, and a daring one too, it would seem.

"I can't _believe _she took the turn that sharp!" a woman behind them exclaimed.

"Calm down, Dolly, they cleared it, didn't they? Besides that kid is a goddamn natural. Wouldn't matter what horse she was riding," another argued. "Both her and that little friend of hers, Tony's daughter. What's her name again?"

Absently, another voice. "Ally."

"It of course helps the horse Brad bought her was well over one hundred thousand dollars," a new voice cut in.

"Well, he _is _planning on getting her all the way to the top. Oh! That was amazing! Look at the way she attacks the course…no fear!"

"Shh, just watch," a fourth voice cut in irritably. "You chatter so much you're missing her round."

"We're paying attention, thank you very much. Oh! Six strides instead of seven! That girl is natural!"

"Shut up and watch!"

"She won!"

"Better than those snobby little Grayson girls. Can't stand them. No horsemanship at all…"

Dean watched them sail over the final jump, finishing the round. She waved at the crowd, slowed her horse, and cantered out of the arena, stopping by his dad and the tall guy.

She was off her horse now, and her eyes skimmed over the stands, meeting his. He couldn't see from this distance, but he felt like he knew her. From somewhere.

Bored now, he decided to wander a bit, keeping his dad in his sights and Sammy right behind him. He spotted a girl with a dark brown horse and headed her way.

"Hey," he said, and she jumped a little but turned to look at him. "I'm Dean."

"Ally," she replied, patting her horse's neck. "Can I help you with something?"

"Actually," Dean said conversationally as he turned back to the ring, "I was wondering if you could explain to me and my brother what's going on."

"Oh!" Ally's face lit up. "Have you never been to a horse show before?"

"Nope. Never even ridden a horse."

Ally's eyes widened. "Really? That's awful!" she kept stroking her horse's face and smiled. "Well, it's a show jumping competition. You have a certain amount of time to get over all the fences. If you knock down a pole, you get a time penalty…"

Dean listened, and watched while another horse went around the course. Certain he mostly understood it, he thanked her and watched her race off to the arena, where the girl on the gray and white horse had just been proclaimed the winner.

John walked back over, muttering under his breath but with a folder in his hand. "Come on, boys, time to go," he said, giving them a gentle push in the back.

"Who was that guy, dad?"

"A friend. I'll tell you two all about him and what he does…when you're old enough."

Dean spared one glance over his shoulder to watch the familiar blonde girl on the gray and white horse riding around the arena, waving up at the crowd with a huge grin on her face, a red ribbon attached to her horse's bridle and a black blanket covering his back.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Couldn't resist, had to throw some horse stuff in there, considering Paige and Ally make it to Nationals later on, and it's talked about it FTGF. I also blame how much I miss riding. It's bad, and it sucks, and I can't wait to get back to Cali so I can maybe start riding again!

**REVIEWS=LOVE**  
><strong>:D<strong>


	17. United: Part I Poetry in Motion

**A/N: **Wheee…Dean with half of the Hoarde…the moment you've all been waiting for… ;P

Also, I knew this chappie took place on a Thursday, and I was like, "Hmm, I'll just pick April 7th." Went back and checked ― April 7, 1994 _was _a Thursday.

I scare myself.

Side note, it's windy and I'm tired and I want to kill my neighbors for installing their stupid clanging flag pole. It's _really freakin' loud_. One thing I did NOT miss from going away to college was that damn flagpole, that's for sure, and now I'm back and I have to listen to it…fml.

**Disclaimer**: Own everything but the Winchesters and Bobby, friends, though Bobby's only mentioned.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen<br>**United: Part I  
>Poetry in Motion<p>

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming  
><strong>Thursday April 7, 1994  
><em>Chris, Noah &amp; Dean are 16; Paige &amp; Jared are 14; Ally, Connie, &amp; Summer are 12<em>

"I still don't understand why I have to come and Sam gets to stay at Bobby's," Dean complained as the Impala roared through the Wyoming countryside. The _boring as hell_ countryside, might he add. Grass, cows, and sky.

Yawn.

John gritted his teeth and hoped for patience. At sixteen, Dean was smart-mouthed, stubborn, and impossible to deal with. Sure, he was obedient, but drove John up the wall far more often than not. "Because," he bit out impatiently, "I _told _you that when you were old enough, I would bring you to learn about some important things I've been keeping from you boys about hunting. You're old enough. We're going to him so that you can learn. Got it?"

"Got it," Dean sighed, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He'd learned how to drive and gotten his license a while ago and John was kind of letting him drive the Impala. Sometimes. "Do I have to go to _school_?"

"Only for a little while," sighed John, rubbing his temple. He was getting a headache. His sons had that effect on him lately. "Eyes on the road."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, sir," he said mockingly. "Where am I going?"

"I'll tell you when we're close."

They drove in silence for a while.

"Thunder Creek?" Dean said as they passed the sign. He chuckled. "What the heck kind of name is that?" It stirred something in his memory, however. Some things were always doing that―blue eyes, deep voices, blue comforters, and _Moby Dick_, which had been read so many times he'd had to duct tape the spine.

They drove through a small little town and continued into the countryside. He turned onto a tree-lined drive and drove towards an increasingly familiar-looking house. A little behind the house a ways was a barn, beside the barn a fenced arena and some kind of weird white fence thing. There were two people on horses in the enclosure with the short little white fence, closer to the rode.

John pointed for him to park somewhere, so Dean did, moving past the arena as he did so. He pressed a little harder than necessary on the gas pedal, making the engine all but roar, as he focused on his parking.

* * *

><p>Fourteen-year-old Paige Newbern had her prized gelding Storm on the bit and was working him through a half-pass maneuver when she noticed a familiar black Impala out of the corner of her eye. On the opposite end of the arena, twelve-year-old Ally Baraldi was riding her horse War, who was being stubborn today and not particularly getting into his piaff, otherwise known to the non-horse-lingo-speaking-community as a trot in place. At the moment, it was more of a War-fighting-Ally-while-somewhat-in-place.<p>

She turned her attention back to Storm, turning him as per her practice test, switching Storm to an extended canter followed by a flying lead change. It was going great, Storm was responsive, until she glanced over to the Impala just in time to hear the impossibly loud growl of an engine and everything went to hell in a hand basket in less than a second.

Storm whinnied shrilly and threw his head up, dropping his haunches and pulling sideways with a half-rear, nearly unseating his rider who was holding on with only the reins at that point. Paige was ready for his rear and threw her weight forward to prevent him from overbalancing, doing her best to keep the gelding under control while War went berserk at the other end of the arena.

Storm half-bucked sideways, eyes rolling as he snorted frantically, Paige fighting for control of his mouth. She pulled Storm in as tight of a circle as she could manage, so tight that his muzzle was nearly touching his haunches, the whites of his eyes still flashing as his ears were pinned back.

"Easy, _easy_, it's okay," she soothed, even as her horse skittered sideways again as the engine rumbled before dying. She pulled him back into the smooth circle and heard shouts, glancing up briefly to see John Winchester, a frequent visitor to Thunder Creek, with a gangly teenager beside him. They seemed concerned at the situation but unsure what to do.

Kicking her feet out of the stirrups, Paige jumped to the earth, keeping a tight hold on Storm's reins. The gelding threw his head up and pulled back, snorting furiously, backing away, sinking on his haunches.

"Easy, easy, whoa boy," she soothed, smoothing a hand over his muzzle. Storm calmed a little, not much, but he wasn't trying to rear anymore, preferring to just stand there and snort every few moments.

"Ally," Paige cried in horror, making her gelding throw his head up and skitter sideways again but she hardly noticed. She was too busy watching her friend hit the dirt and War rear. She looked around desperately and finally tossed her reins at John. The agitated dark bay gelding at the other end of the dressage ring was freaking out, whinnying shrilly as he reared and bucked, standing between Paige and the stirring form of her best friend behind him. She had to calm War down before going to Ally, if he got his reins caught around his legs he could injure himself severely.

Paige ran towards him, slowing as she approached with her hands held out. "Easy, War," she soothed, "easy, there, big fella. It's just me, I'm not going to hurt you." The gelding's front hooves fell back to earth. He tossed his head with another whinny, breathing out heavily through his nostrils. "Shh," she soothed gently, reaching out towards his reins. She gripped them and reached up to smooth a hand down War's face. "There's a good boy, easy, War."

War snorted, nostrils flaring as his sides heaved from exertion and stress.

"Ally?" she called as quietly as she could, leading War over to where Ally was picking herself up off the ground, walking the agitated gelding in a circle. "Al? Are you okay?"

"Fine," Ally assured her best friend, reaching out for War's reins. "What the heck happened?"

"They happened," Paige growled, storming back across the arena. John was holding the end of Storm's reins, the gelding uneasily moving sideways away from him, ears pinned back as he made agitated noises. Paige moved forward, pulling Storm's reins out of John's hands. Her gelding's eyes were still rolling, so she walked him in a circle before turning accusing eyes on Dean and John.

"Are you okay?" Dean wondered, wry concern on his face. A half-smirk tilted the corner of his mouth as he looked at Ally. "Nice fall."

"She wouldn't have fallen, asshole," Paige spat venomously, "if _you _hadn't revved the engines on that _stupid _car!"

Dean and John seemed surprised at her language. Storm threw his head back again and all but jumped back in reaction to his rider's agitation, nearly pulling her arm out of her socket. She soothed him, turning a death glare on the man and his teenage son.

Ally took her turn to talk, all twelve years of righteous fury. "What in the hell were you _thinking_? I could have gotten hurt, or worse, you could have hurt War!"

"War is a state of fighting between two or more countries," Dean deadpanned with a smirk, "how could me revving my car hurt _that_?"

"THE HORSE!" Ally exploded, as War squealed and half-reared. She pulled him back down without even looking at him. "It's the _name of my horse_," she snarled, "and he's worth more than your miserable hide ever will be!"

With that, Ally turned on her heel and stormed away. She needed to calm him down now.

Paige was still glaring at Dean, Storm now more-or-less calm.

John cleared his throat. "Look, he didn't mean to scare you and your, um, pet," he said, attempting to sooth the situation.

"Storm isn't my _pet_," Paige snapped, glaring at John now. "He's my partner, and my best friend. Not that _you'd _understand," she added venomously.

Dean was affronted now. "Look, I didn't mean to scare the stupid horse, okay? How was I supposed to know he was going to freak out, I didn't mean to push the pedal so hard, and―"

"_Don't_ talk to me," she cut him off, putting the reins back over Storm's head. "Now I have to go calm him down, and if we lose at the show tomorrow because of this, I'll kick your stupid scrawny butt." She mounted and turned her horse after Ally.

"Can we just talk about this―" Dean reached for Storm's reins, his sentence cut off with a sharp yelp as he jumped back. Storm had bitten him on the arm and was giving him the evil eye, ears pinned back to his skull as he danced away from the agitated teenager, rolling his head in a circle as his nostrils flared.

Paige moved with her gelding, pulling him in another circle as she smiled at Dean without humor. "Serves you right, jerk," she grumbled, digging her heels into Storms' sides.

Dean yelped again as a spray of dirt hit him and his dad in the wake of the animal's abrupt change from walk to run. He glared after her and turned to his dad. "Great people you hang out with, dad," he said sarcastically, pulling his sleeve back to observe the teeth marks in his skin. It hadn't bled, but it had been a hard bite.

"You shouldn't have revved the engine," John chastised him, shaking his head as he looked after the girl. "Geez, last time I was here, I swear to God that girl was a sweet little thing. What the hell happened?"

"John?" a new voice called as they heard more pounding hoof beats. "What's going on?"

The pair turned to see a tall man dismounting a huge red horse, pulling off his cowboy hat. He dropped his reins on the ground and strode towards them, and as he approached, Dean realized that this man was very, _very _tall, and also _very_ familiar.

"Nothing," John sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair.

"Why are you by the dressage arena? Are the girls okay?"

"They're fine," he assured the taller man, holding his hands up. "Just a little misunderstanding is all."

That voice. Dean _knew _that voice; it pulled up a long-ago, forgotten memory, nearly shocking Dean to the core.

_The tall man with the kind eyes crouched down, and suddenly he was on Dean's level. He was tall, Dean noted, his hair was very dark and his eyes a mixture of brown, green, and gold, but his smile was full of warmth. That smile was different than most smiles he got―there was no trace of anger or pity, only acceptance and kindness and warmth that warmed the boy from the inside out._

"_Hey, buddy. What's your name?"_

_His voice washed over Dean, a deep baritone both soothing and masculine. He liked the voice, he realized. It would be cool to have a voice like his._

"_That's Dean. He doesn't talk."_

_Dean spared a glance up at his father, wanting to say something but biting his tongue. The tall man seemed to sense this and his smile softened, his eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly as he tilted his head to one side. He felt a little unsure under than knowing gaze, but the man didn't press the issue, and he was happy._

_A big, warm hand settled on Dean's head and gently ruffled his hair, mussing it just enough so that he'd have to reach up and fix it. "It's okay, bud. You don't have to talk. I'm Brad."_

_Brad._

_Smiling, Dean nodded and reached up to smooth his hair back down, as those big hands settled on his thin shoulders._

_Brad just smiled encouragingly and stood, leading the way into a hospital room._

_Dean decided he liked the tall man, Brad. He was nice and had a friendly smile, and Bobby always said you could tell if someone was nice or not by looking at their eyes. Brad had little crinkles on the edges of his, like Bobby did, so he decided right then and there that though his size was a little scary, he liked him anyway._

"Brad," breathed Dean, his eyes wide. He squinted up at the all man, who was watching him quizzically.

"Good to see you again, Dean," Brad said, with the air of someone who had already repeated himself several times. "Are you feeling okay?"

"'M fine," he said, waving a hand dismissively as he studied the man before him. "I remember you."

Brad smiled, and it was the same smile Dean had always thought was just in his dreams. He'd always thought that was a dream…but it was a _memory._ "I saw you a few times when you were a kid," he confirmed.

"The hospital. We were in a hospital."

He nodded, brushing his cowboy hat against his leg. "After my wife's accident," he added. "Your dad came by to see how she was doing, and how my older two kids were doing. He brought you and Sam with him."

Dean was dazed. "I always thought it was just a dream…not a memory."

Brad grinned. "Well, now you know," he said, clapping Dean on the shoulder. "Damn, though, kid. You grew up," he added with a laugh. "C'mon, my wife will have some snacks for you inside, she's feeding the little ones lunch right now."

Still reeling from this new information, Dean followed after his dad and John, wondering just how much of those dreams were real. . .wondering most of all if the blue eyes that had haunted him for years belonged to someone he'd used to know.

Wondered if they belonged to someone _here_.

* * *

><p>Dean got his answer about an hour later. He was outside with Brad and his dad, talking about some Brotherhood thing, when he heard the sound of clopping hooves and bit back a gulp as soon as he looked and figured out who it was.<p>

It was the two girls from earlier, riding back towards the barn on their horses, who now seemed relatively calm. The big gray-and-white one, Storm, wasn't even fighting his rider anymore, and the brown one beside him―War―pranced a little, immediately being calmed by the younger girl.

"There you are, girls," Brad called, moving towards them. "How was your workout?"

"Fine," Paige said shortly, making no effort to slow Storm's gait.

"Hey," he called a little louder. "I'm talking to you, young lady. Get over here, both of you. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

The girls made faces but turned their horses towards Brad, dismounting when they were a few feet away.

"Girls, you might remember Dean?" Brad pressed, raising an eyebrow when both girls kept their eyes rooted on the ground, the helmets hiding most of their faces. "Girls," he repeated, a little louder. "Take off your helmets and be polite. You know better."

Sighing, Paige unbuckled her helmet and pulled it off her head, raising her chin to meet Dean's eyes with a glare, glancing up at her father. She missed Dean's sharp inhale and wide eyes. "Trust me, dad, we've met," she said angrily. "Can we go now?"

"Ally, this is Dean," said Brad, ignoring his oldest daughter. "Dean, this is Ally, and my daughter, Paige."

Dean couldn't say anything so he just nodded dumbly, his narrowed eyes fixed on Paige's face.

Paige.

Her name was _Paige_.

And she was the owner of those damn blue eyes―eyes that had haunted him for almost four years.

* * *

><p>Chris Newbern whistled cheerfully as he headed to the barn, glad to have a cowboy hat back on his head. Football practice had taken <em>forever<em>. He'd thought Coach Marshall was _never _going to let them leave. He still had to practice show jumping _and _roping, too, and it was already almost six. He sighed; looked like he was going to have to skip dinner.

Again.

"Chris!"

He turned and shielded his eyes against the setting sun to see his father hurrying towards him with a vaguely familiar boy beside him. "Hey, dad," he called back as his dad approached, walking back up the path to meet him halfway.

"Hey, kiddo," Brad said, ruffling Chris' hair and grinning when Chris rolled his eyes. "How was school and practice?"

"Good," he shrugged, "no different than usual. Coach Marshall yelled a lot. Noah made good passes. I outran everyone. Same old, same old." Turning his attention to the boy beside his father, he looked quizzically at Dean. "Who's this?"

"Chris, this is Dean Winchester," Brad introduced them. "Dean, this is my son, Chris, the one I've been telling you about pretty much all day."

"Hi," Dean said in a bored tone, hands shoved in his pockets. He took a moment to observe the other boy―he was tall, well-built and lithely muscular with broad shoulders, close-cropped dark brown hair, and vividly blue eyes. In short, kind of a pretty boy, like him, who just so happened to look a hell of a lot like his old man.

Brad walked off, leaving the two boys together on the path.

"Didn't you come through here a few years ago?" Chris wondered, studying the boy. "The one who got injured on the hunt?"

"Maybe," he shrugged, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets. "I don't remember much of it. I just remember being hurt, not much else until after I woke up in a motel room five days later with my little brother playing nursemaid."

"Huh." Chris shrugged and walked off towards the barn. "You coming?"

Dean didn't particularly want to, but this kid was at least _near _his age. "So, your family, like, obsessed with horses or something?" he questioned the dark-haired boy.

Chris grinned, white teeth flashing in the fading light. "Something like that," he said vaguely with a laugh. They had more guns than horses, but that was beside the point. "My dad and grandpa breed champion sport horses, and champion western horses, too. We've got the top bloodline in the state as far as cow horses go, and our sport horses, particularly the Warmbloods, are descendants of some of the best bloodlines in Europe."

"Fascinating," Dean deadpanned, following Chris into the barn. Halfway down the aisle, a chestnut horse stuck his head over the stall door and whickered, joined by a steel-gray horse a moment later.

"Hey, you two," Chris greeted them, scratching the chestnut first before going across the aisle to scratch the gray one. "That's Daybreak," he told Dean, inclining his head towards the chestnut mare. "She's my rodeo horse. And this," he continued, scratching the chin of the steel gray gelding, "is Admiral, my show jumping horse."

Dean smiled, not knowing what else to do. The gray horse was familiar, though, and he realized it was the horse he'd seen at the one show a few years ago, when his dad had wanted to get information from a tall man he now knew as Brad. Paige had been there, too, he realized, on her white-and-gray horse.

The other boy had disappeared, leaving Dean alone in the barn with the horses. He hesitantly held out his hand towards Admiral, who dropped his head and snuffed at his palm. It felt funny, but not in a bad way. In fact, it kind of tickled.

Clopping behind him caused him to turn, only to find himself facing Paige, Ally walking beside her. The blonde girl was leading a big solid black horse forward, but stopped when she saw him, staring at him for a long moment.

"You want to move?" she said harshly, jerking her chin at the stall next to Admiral's. Dean moved aside as soon as he realized he was in her way and sort of just stood there awkwardly between Daybreak and Admiral, shifting from foot to foot, shoving his hands back in his pockets. Paige glared at him from over the stall door. "What the heck are you _doing _in here?"

"What do you care?" Dean shot back angrily, eyes narrowing. "Look, I _said _I was sorry―"

"No, you didn't," Paige cut him off sharply as she closed the stall behind the black horse and latched the door. "You _never _said you were sorry. Your _dad _did."

"I―"

"Don't even bother," she interrupted him, again. It sort of seemed to be her thing. Dean went to move after her, but was stopped by something snagging his sleeve. He looked down to see Admiral holding his sleeve between his teeth, ears pricked forward hopefully. "He wants a carrot," she called without even turning around, disappearing around the corner into another part of the barn.

"Do you _have _to get the last work in every freakin' time?"

"Yep," she called over her shoulder.

"Unbelievable," Dean muttered, prying his sleeve free of Admiral's grasp. He was brushing his shirt off when he felt the prickle on the back of his neck and turned to find himself facing Ally, now. "What do _you _want?" he sighed, not in the mood for more arguing.

Ally's response was a little fist lashing out, smashing into the side of Dean's face. He jumped back with a surprised noise, glaring at her as his hand flew to his cheek.

"What the hell was _that _for?" he thundered, glaring at her.

"_That _was for getting me thrown off. I _was _aiming for your nose," Ally retorted matter-of-factly, turning on her heel to follow Paige. She disappeared around the same corner Paige had just as Chris came back into view around the same corner, an English saddle and saddle pad on one hip and a bridle and other equipment slung over his shoulder. He'd changed into breeches and was wearing boots and half-chaps.

"What was that all about?" Chris wondered, one eyebrow rising. Dean observed he looked a lot like his dad when he did that.

"You related to the Ice Queen?" Dean deadpanned, raising one eyebrow to copy Chris.

Chris grinned, settling the saddle on Admiral's stall door, bridle in hand as he went into said stall. "That would depend," he retorted. "Who's the Ice Queen?"

Dean smirked. "Paige."

"Ah." Chris laughed outright, shaking his head. "Never heard her be called that before, but yeah, I am. She's my little sister." Admiral stood still while he buckled his bridle in place, glancing up at the other boy, who was leaning over the stall door. "What'd she do?"

"She shouted at me. A lot."

"Yeah, she does that."

"And glared."

"Yeah, that too."

"Has an expression as cold as a glacier when she's pissed."

"That she does," Chris agreed, grinning good-naturedly.

"Hence, 'Ice Queen'," Dean finished, shrugging. "I thought it fit her quite well, personally."

"We call her Barracuda," he admitted, swinging the saddle pad onto Admiral's back, followed by the saddle. "Or Fire-Breathing Dragon, whichever suits her current mood better. Though, we never say it to her face."

They shared a laugh, and in that instant, were friends.

"So, Dean, where are you from?" Chris wondered as he started to buckle Admiral's girth.

"All over, but I was born in Kansas," Dean replied, resting his chin on his folded arms. "You?"

"Born in California," he explained, tightening the girth as far as he could, grunting with the effort. "Moved here with my dad and sister when I was eleven and she was nine." At Dean's quizzical expression, Chris elaborated. "Parents got divorced. Jillian, my other little sister, lives with my biological mom for the school year but comes out here for Christmas, Spring Break, and Summer. Dad got remarried to our mom, Debbie, and now we've got two new siblings, our baby brother Gunnar who's a year and a half and our baby sister Lilly who was born in December. We've got Deb's kids Travis and Carrie, too, who are nine and seven."

Big family, Dean noted. "I've got a brother, Sam. Four years younger. He turned twelve last month."

"I remember him. He was a quiet little thing…wouldn't talk to us no matter what we tried. Dad finally had Bobby come and get him." Chris peered at Dean. "You _are _the one who came through a few years ago. Grandma fixed you up, and we woke up one morning and you were gone. Your dad came and got you sometime in the night."

Dean shrugged. "Like I said, I don't remember." He watched Chris start buckling more stuff onto the horse, not sure what it was for and not particularly caring. "You play sports?"

"Oh boy, do I," Chris sighed, shaking his head. "Swimming, Football, Baseball, and on top of that I'm an equestrian. Something had to give. I'm not doing swimming for my high school this year, and I'm only just barely managing to talk my coaches into letting me play baseball _and_ football. I only get away with it because of my 'natural talent' and 'work ethic'," he explained, using air quotes. "It sucks when I've got stuff on the weekends, because I have to balance rodeos with show jumping, football, _and _baseball. Thankfully, rodeo is mostly during the summer, and football rarely has weekend games. Baseball and show jumping, though, get tricky. Usually I'm at shows all day and come back just in the nick of time for baseball or football practice. Sometimes I have to miss both." He shook his head, reaching over to unlatch Admiral's stall door. "I miss so much school at this point my teachers are amazed I'm passing with straight A's."

"Christ," he remarked, eyebrows in his hairline. He had some sort of impression that he was looking at one of _those _guys―the guys who were perfect at everything and got perfect marks on top of everything else. "Never had any time for sports."

"I can imagine," said Chris as he led Admiral out of the stall, motioning for Dean to walk beside him. He led him through the barn; it was T-shaped, one of the short sides of the T containing his dad's office and his grandfather's office as well as the tack room, with a wide doorway leading to the indoor arena. "You're here for the initial training, right?"

Dean sensed the test in that question. "This while Brotherhood thing? Yeah. My dad decided I was 'old enough' to know who he worked with. Until this morning I'd never even heard him mention it. He never even wrote it down in his journal, trust me, I'd have seen it."

Chris nodded; as the son of a hunter, he understood. However, as the grandson of the _signore_, highest ranking position among the Brotherhood, he'd been raised knowing about it _and _hunting.

"I'm just happy this is base of operations for the Brotherhood. Your dad must have dragged you and your brother all over the country," he said.

"Everywhere but Alaska and Hawaii, pretty much," Dean agreed. "You got to stay here?"

"Yep. Dad dumped us here with grandpa every summer."

Well, he couldn't help but be a little jealous of that. He'd have given anything for a few months of normalcy, in comparison to growing up the way he had, raising Sammy and all that. Chris' voice broke Dean out of his train of though.

"So, will you be coming to high school here then?"

"So my dad tells me," Dean mused, shaking his head. "I start tomorrow."

"Lucky you," Chris laughed. Dean punched him playfully on the arm.

"Don't mock me."

"Alright, alright, sorry. On the bright side, you only have to go for one day this week. Next week is spring break." He grinned as he led Admiral and Dean into the indoor arena. "And," he added, "you get to meet the Horde."

"The Horde?" said Dean skeptically, one eyebrow raised.

Chris nodded seriously, putting one foot in Admiral's left stirrup and swinging up onto the big gray horse's back. "Be afraid," he joked, winking, "be _very _afraid." He laughed at the expression on Dean's face. "Grandpa wants to talk to you. I have to warm up Admiral for my jumping lesson, he'll come through the way we did. You can sit in the chair outside his office." Chris pointed to it, and with a nod and a smile, Dean sat and waited for John Newbern.

It quickly became boring. He'd rather be shooting, practicing knife throwing, or working on the Impala. All there was to look at was Chris and Admiral, who were trotting around the huge arena, avoiding the colorful jumps set up at intervals. The gray horse was so big it made Chris look small, and Chris had to be at the very least six foot two. After a while though, it was sort of therapeutic, watching the horse's graceful movements.

"Poetry in motion," a voice said behind him, making Dean start and turn around. John Newbern was standing there, his hands in his jacket pockets, eyes fixed on the big gray horse as he cantered gracefully around the arena. "There is nobility without deceit, friendship without envy, beauty without vanity, power without disrespect, courage without waver, honesty without resentment…love without disregard."

Dean was beginning to wonder if this guy was a few bullets short of an ammo clip, and his expression must have conveyed that because when John looked down at him, he grinned.

"You ever ridden a horse, boy?" John questioned.

"No, sir," he replied automatically.

"Try it sometime." Without another word, John turned and shouted into the barn. "Oi, Princess! Lesson starts in two minutes whether you're here or not, and if I have to―"

"I'm here, Grandpa," Paige announced as she rounded the corner leading the black horse from earlier, her expression irritated. "I _would_ have been on time, but Riot did _not _want to be saddled today."

"Well, you should know how to control him," John huffed, crossing his arms.

"And _you _should be teaching him to _not _bite people when they try to cinch the girth," Paige retorted hotly, glaring up at her grandfather.

John grinned. "That's my girl," he praised. Paige beamed in response and led Riot past them. Not sure what else to do, Dean tagged along until they headed into the arena. He stood in the entryway, shoes in the dirt, not sure what he was supposed to do, and his dad had said to respect John at all times.

Now Dean was wondering if these people were insane. He'd never exactly _met _adults who encouraged fiery tempers, verbal spars, and sarcasm…but, he admitted to himself, he sorta liked it. Their personalities were similar to his.

Paige had led Riot into the arena, mounted him, and was now trotting him in circles around John, the two of them firing arguments back and forth at each other. Dean just watched, apparently momentarily forgotten by the older man.

"You think this is bad," Chris commented with a grin as he halted Admiral beside Dean, "just _wait _until you meet Noah."

"He like that?" Dean wondered, gesturing towards Paige and Dean.

Admiral sidestepped and Chris halted him, smirking down at Dean. "Worse."

Dean grinned. "Well then, I like him already."

Chris grinned back. "Thought you might," he mused. "Oh, and by the way, this 'crash course' you're supposed to get?"

"What about it?"

"Don't expect it until Sunday night at the earliest."

"Why not?"

"We have a show this weekend," Chris explained. "It's a junior level Three Day Event. Starts tomorrow. We're leaving school early." He watched Paige trotting Riot around the arena, smiling at some of the witty comments flying back and forth between her and his grandfather. "Pretty much everything stops around here on show weekends. My family is so focused on making us champions they'll probably get so distracted they'll forget they're supposed to be teaching you about hunting."

"Great."

"Don't worry," Chris assured the now-sullen teenager. "They'll remember by Sunday night when we get home." He grinned. "And then you'll be wishing they'd forgotten permanently. Grandpa and dad can be hardasses when it comes to hunting, just warning you."

"HEY, TWINKLETOES," John bellowed, getting the boys' attention. He was pointing at Christopher. "We going to start this lesson sometime this century?"

"Sorry," he called, shrugging apologetically at Dean as he nudged Admiral into a canter and fell into a pattern behind his sister.

"Alright, you two, we're going light today just to keep them loose," John ordered as they trotted around him in the half of the arena not containing jumps. "You know the drill. What are we doing this weekend?"

"Kicking the Grayson's asses," Paige and Chris called back in unison.

"Making them wish they'd never been born," Chris added.

"Mopping their blood from our boots!" Paige jokingly yelled, grinning at her grandfather.

Dean shook his head and sat back down, interested to watch this now, if only to listen to their comebacks.

It was like he'd said earlier.

A few bullets short of an ammo clip.

And, honestly, he loved that.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Dean in TC… waaaaaaaaaaaaaay fun to write. xP See, I _told _you Dean and Paige weren't always lovey-dovey. At the moment, she hates his guts and he's not too fond of her, either! Bwahahaha!

I've been typing like mad, friends. I have 32 pages of drabbles I need to tie together and sort out into chapters, so expect lots of updates in the next week. Some are short, while others, like this, are long-ish. It won't be in the MA and FTGF style of length and story development until Dean comes back after Sam leaves for Stanford and the _real _story starts. We're close! :D

There's a few other random drabbles that tie into this drabble series but I couldn't fit them into the story in a way I liked, so I might do a More Than A Feeling: Outtakes side-story, but I'm not sure yet. I'll keep you posted.

_Up next_: Dean meets Noah, after which, his face hurts; horse shows are insane, 0400 is way too damn early to be awake without coffee, horse hooves leave rather large bruises, old guys yell like drill sergeants, chocolate is a useful bribe, and blue eyes are his curse.

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
>:D<strong>


	18. United: Part II It's Not Easy

**A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS!**

Lots of drabbles in this one, friends, 8000+ words of them. A little choppy, but gets the point across.

**Disclaimer**: Own everything but the Winchesters.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen<strong>  
>United: Part II<br>It's Not Easy

**Thunder Creek, WY**  
>April 8, 1994<p>

Stomping, shouting, and a heck of a lot of banging pulled Dean from a sound sleep. He lifted his head and squinted at the clock, groaning when he read the time of 05:15 blinking at him in fluorescent green. He laid there for a while, listening to the activity going on outside the guest room he'd been given to sleep in. Sometime yesterday his dad had left, and wouldn't be back again until John called him and deemed Dean 'complete with phase one'. Whatever _that _was supposed to mean.

At five thirty he was sick of just laying there and crawled reluctantly out of bed. He threw open his door and simply stood in the doorway for a long moment.

It was like a _beehive_. People were zipping back and forth on first floor, mostly dressed in sweats, some holding saddles, others with a plate of food in one hand and random items in the other. Dogs zigzagged between legs, people shouted over the commotion. John and Brad were barking orders into the chaos, and he glimpsed Paige and Chris arguing as they headed out the front door.

"Where's my breeches?" Ally screeched, running by him with a nylon bag of some sort he'd seen his dad keep suits in. "I can't find my breeches!" She grabbed the guy nearest her. "Have you seen my breeches?"

"They're in your hand, Allyson," the guy said, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, right," Ally gasped, bolting out the front door.

Dean dodged several guys with saddles and made it to the kitchen, where Brad's wife Deb was making breakfast. "What's going on?" he grumbled, wordlessly pouring himself a cup of coffee. It didn't escape his notice that there were six coffee pots lined up of the counter with cream, sugar, and coffee creamers between each one and rows of empty mugs. It was like a coffee assembly line.

"Show day," Debbie explained, and when she turned, he noticed she was cradling a pink-clad bundle in her arms. "There'll be more than enough food for you, I'm just making a big skillet, it'll be a free for all."

"Why's it so busy? It's not even six yet." Dean punctuated the statement with a yawn.

"They have to groom the horses last minute, pack up the trailer, get their legs and tails wrapped, button braid their manes, get their tack cleaned and polished and packed, gather up their show clothes, double-check for all equipment, get the horses loaded, take a shower, get ready for school, and be ready to go at noon sharp."

"Sounds like a lot of trouble," he commented, idly sipping his coffee while he watched the one and a half year old―Gunnar―cheerfully banging on pots and pans. It was so loud he wasn't bothering anyone.

"It is, but it's worth it. Paige's dressage class starts at three fifteen, so she's got to be there by two thirty. Chris' starts at four. They really probably shouldn't be going to school today, but Brad is stubborn." Debbie laughed at that, gently kissing her daughter's forehead. "You'll be leaving early with them, too," she added, raising an eyebrow. "John has enlisted you into show-weekend-insanity. I'm sure he'll teach you stuff about the Brotherhood as we go along."

"It's not like the Knight's Templar, is it?" Dean joked with a smirk. "Will I have to take a vow of chastity? Because if so, deal's off…"

Debbie laughed. "Snarky thing, aren't you?"

Dean grinned cheekily and shrugged. He held up a finger and waved it around. "I shall not take a vow of silence, either. It's way too much fun running my mouth for that."

"Don't worry, no chastity or silence required," said Debbie, rolling her eyes. "I hope you're ready, though. This is going to be one insane weekend."

/

By seven-thirty, Dean already felt like it was afternoon. He'd gotten dragged into helping them load everything up, and then had taken a quick shower and thrown on his clean clothes. Brad wordlessly shoved a backpack at him before herding him, Paige, Chris, Travis, and Carrie into his suburban.

It was a loud drive as everyone chatted over each other, but Dean felt welcomed. He was never left out, and they always included him in the conversation. It was happy chaos, he decided. On the way, he learned that Chris detested lima beans―apparently this Noah character was always sneaking them into his food―and was petrified of the walking characters at Disneyland (apparently he'd gotten chased down Main Street by Mickey Mouse as a child); that Paige was dead terrified of spiders (though she vehemently denied it); that these four kids were obsessed with horses to the point of it being pretty much unhealthy (in his opinion); and that Brad was a stickler for time-tables.

They jumped out of the suburban precisely fifteen minutes before school started, energetically swore they would be ready to go when he picked them all up at eleven thirty, and slammed the doors to watch him drive of.

"Welcome to Thunder Creek High School," Chris said, slinging his arm over Dean's shoulders. Dean turned and was surprised to find three buildings in a kind of triangle formation. The dark-haired boy beside him pointed at the one in the middle. "Lovely, isn't it?"

It actually sort of was pretty. The architecture reminded him of pictures he'd seen of German castles. The brick was light brown, giving it a welcoming appearance, the windows clean and dazzling in the sunshine.

"Which is, of course, situated between Thunder Creek Elementary," Chris pointed to the building on the left, "and Thunder Creek Middle School," he pointed to the building on the right. "Trust me, _way _better than prep school. Prep school sucks balls."

"Good to know," Dean said drily, slinging his new backpack over his shoulder. He had the books he would need and an extra binder; apparently, Brad had known he was coming and already signed him up and turned in all his paperwork and everything.

Travis and Carrie said their goodbyes and raced off to the elementary school, eager to see their friends.

Sighing, Chris led Dean towards the high school. Paige had marched off into the high school already, leaving the two boys to follow in her wake, chatting about knives and guns.

"You're going to like him," Chris was assuring Dean as they went in search of Noah. "He's a lot like us… stubborn, smartass, the works. He's kind of big, though. Don't let his size intimidate you." He rolled his eyes and grinned. "Noah acts like a badass―which he is, don't get me wrong―but all the girls have to do is cry, and BAM," he smacked his fist against his palm for emphasis, "he doesn't know what to do and turns into a giant teddy bear, letting them cry all over his shirt and _everything_."

Dean would have laughed along with his new friend, except for the fact that he'd noticed the huge blonde boy standing directly in Chris' path. He held his tongue, snorting when Chris bumped into the boy and looked up into his irritated face.

"Jesus, Noah, I'm trying to walk here," Chris sniped, still irritated (it had been like slamming to bricks together, and now his shoulder hurt from the impact), "because, you know, walking is kind of what hallways are _for_."

"Well, now that we have a firm grip of the obvious," Noah retorted, looking down at the shorter green-eyed boy as something stirred in his mind. "Do I know you?" he wondered, hard expression melting to one of acute curiosity. He narrowed his eyes ever-so-slightly and tilted his head to one side, looking Dean up and down.

"Dean Winchester," he introduced himself, sticking his hand out with a smile.

Noah froze, staring at Dean.

Chris knew that look―it was his you-bastard-I'm-going-to-punch-you look. Funny, considering that Noah had known Dean for all of thirty seconds, and he _already _wanted to kill him.

Dean, still standing awkwardly with his hand out, turned to Chris with a questioning expression on his face. Chris opened his mouth to explain, but before he could utter so much as a sound, Noah's fist struck out with such speed it was a blur, slamming into the younger boy's face and sending him sprawling on the linoleum as all activity in the hall halted.

"Noah!" Chris exclaimed in horror. "What the _hell_ is your problem!" He crouched beside Dean. "You okay, man?" he said, helping Dean back to his feet.

His ears were ringing from the blow as his vision swam, slowly regaining equilibrium as he stared up at the tall blonde boy, who didn't look the least bit remorseful over the fact he'd just slugged him with no provocation. All he'd done was stick his bloody hand out, and he got decked for it!

"Is that how you greet all new people?" he wondered, the bite he'd wanted to put in his voice ruined by the way his vision swam.

"Only people who punch my sister and give her a black eye," Noah shrugged, completely unconcerned over his act of violence. He stuck his hand out. "Noah Clayborne. You must be Winchester's kid."

Dean just rolled his eyes and shook Noah's hand. "I will have you know, I never punched your damn sister and gave her a black eye," he said sharply, "I've never even _met _your sister!"

It was to no avail, he was left talking to the giant's back. Noah was walking off down the hall, apparently now ignoring Chris and Dean completely. Dean turned to Chris, desperation on his face.

"I never even _met _his sister!" he repeated, more to make himself feel a little better than anything.

"He means Paige," Chris explained helpfully. "We all grew up together…we're siblings, by everything but blood." He smiled grimly and slung an arm over Dean's shoulders. "But as we hunter know, there are some things thicker than blood."

"Oh," Dean said simply, not sure what else to day. He'd punched Paige? When?

On another note, what _was_ it with people in this place and _punching _people? His face would never be the same…

/

Paige stormed off away from the boys, beyond irritated at Dean's presence. He was overbearing and cocky and way too arrogant for someone his age . . . and that stupid smug smile made her want to punch him in the face repeatedly. She shoved that thought down viciously and went in search of Summer and Connie.

She found them between the middle school and high school.

"Hey," she greeted them with a smile.

"So how do you want me to kill him?" Connie deadpanned.

Paige stared at her for a minute before the three of them burst into laughter. She'd been about to ask her friend to help her do just that.

"Sometimes I think grandpa is right to wonder about us," she giggled, blue eyes sparkling with mirth. "You ready for the show today Ally?"

"Ready as ever," Ally shrugged. "War's doing great . . . as long as there's no Impala's around to spook him _again_."

"Touche," Paige grinned as the bell rang. She sighed. "See you later Ally!"

The girls waved and parted ways, heading to their classes.

/

Dean was still a little miffed about becoming up close and personal with Noah's fist, but over the course of their first few classes, decided he liked the older boy. Noah had no patience for bullshit and called stuff how it was―he could respect that. And, now that he'd gotten punching Dean out of his system, Noah had turned out to be quite the quick-witted sarcasm sparring opponent.

The school thing was giving him a headache, though. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make himself care about algebra . . . he'd mastered it ages ago to help Sam learn it. It's not like there was anything else to do at Bobby's, anyway, except learn how to fix cars.

In the back of the algebra classroom the three boys sat discussing hunting, using code words instead of the actual names for things. Dean had a sense the boys were getting him ready for whatever these "trials" were supposed to be, and so he listened intently to the scenario they gave him.

His eyes glazed over as he mentally ran through the list of every creature he'd ever read about in his father's journal, comparing it to the presented scenario.

"Careful, Dean," Noah warmed with a smirk, "don't get too lost in thought, you might never find your way back, seeing as its unfamiliar territory."

Chris snorted and Dean glared. "Are you always this stupid, or are you just making a special effort today?" Dean retorted.

Chris guffawed and Noah grinned in response, inclining his head in acknowledgement. Dean went back to pondering the issue, having narrowed it down to two possible solutions.

"Shape-shifter," Dean said triumphantly. "Either that or some kind of skinwalker. It would depend on the area, its victims, and its hunting techniques."

Noah nodded. "You'll do fine, man, even thought the trials are quite a ways away."

"When?" Dean wondered, raising an eyebrow.

The boys considered their answer before giving it to Dean.

"Probably after you turn eighteen," Chris said finally. "Usually, if given specific permission from the Conclave, some people as young as sixteen have tried, but that only happened once in the entire history of the Brotherhood."

"With who?"

"My grandpa," Noah supplied, shrugging. "He was big for his age and out for revenge…my great-uncle was killed by werewolves when they were kids. Grandpa stands firm by the eighteen rule, though, so I wouldn't get my hopes up."

Dean's shoulders slumped. "Then why am I here?" he wondered.

"Dunno," Chris shrugged, smiling. "But I like you."

"So do I," Noah said. "Sorry about, well, your face." He pointed at the boy's still-swollen cheek and grinned apologetically.

"Neanderthal," Dean accused, half-heartedly glaring at the older boy.

Noah just threw his head back and laughed, and Dean realized that for the first time in his life, he had friends.

/

Noon rolled around, and from there, it was a whirlwind of chaos. They hurried back to the ranch, loaded up the horses in the trailers, and then piled into Brad's suburban. Dean ended up sandwiched between Chris and Paige, the former chatting happily with him, and the latter pretending he didn't exist.

The girl was exasperating, he'd decided, and could apparently hold one hell of a grudge. She wasn't even _looking _at him, and all he'd done was spook her friggin horse. The way she was acting, you'd think he'd killed her puppy or something.

"Look―"

"_Don't_ talk to me," Paige cut him off, studying some sort of weird pattern in a binder that was situated on her lap.

"At least let me―"

"I said _don't_," she repeated loudly, glaring sideways at him.

Well, at least she was _looking _at him, now. "I didn't mean―" he tried again, in vain.

Paige was full on glaring at him now. "Are you _deaf_?"

"Are _you_ capable of letting me finish a damn _sentence_?"

"I don't want to hear what you have to say, Winchester!" Paige shouted.

"Tough shit, because I'm going to say it anyway," he shouted back.

"Well I won't listen."

"What are you, five?"

"What are _you_, stupid?"

"I'm sorry I spooked your damn horse, okay?" he exploded.

Paige went rigid, her expression abruptly icy.

"Damn it, I didn't mean it like that, I say damn when I'm mad," Dean groaned in frustration, threading his fingers through his hair, the sentence proving his own point.

She turned away from him with crossed arms. (Neither had noticed the car had fallen silent as its other members―Brad, Debbie, Travis, Carrie, and Christopher―had stopped talking and were watching this exchange with interest).

"I'm SORRY, okay?"

"Fine," Paige snapped, her eyes glued on the dressage pattern in her lap.

"Fine," Dean snapped back, falling silent and suddenly feeling like a five-year-old. This was the least productive conversation he'd ever had in his entire damn life. He didn't know why, but there was some part of him that _yearned _for her forgiveness, to have her look at him with something other than disdain or anger, but instead, they just ended up bickering like a couple of little kids and it was frustrating. He looked up and finally noticed their audience.

"What are you looking at?" he growled defensively.

The rest of the people in the car quickly sprang into conversation, acting as if they hadn't been listening in on the quarrel, leaving Dean and Paige to brood alone in peace―both of them pointedly looking in opposite directions.

/

Stony silence prevailed between the two as they neared Colorado Springs, the site of the Junior 3 Day Event. They moved through town, getting into actual traffic (a rarity in Wyoming), Dean picking out several other trucks pulling horse trailers. By listening to Chris and Noah's chatting throughout the day, he'd concluded this was a rather important show, or at least a popular one.

The show grounds were already packed with trailers, people, and horses. As Debbie had said, classes had started at eight that morning, but Chris and Paige wouldn't be competing until later in the afternoon.

Paige and Chris seemed to forget all about him, as it became a rush of getting horses out of trailers, brushing them off, wrapping their legs, fixing any mishaps with their manes, etc. He helped where he could and basically went where John told him, mind whirling with all this crazy horse crap. It didn't make a lick of sense to him.

All too soon, it was nearing Paige's time to go. She'd dressed, and he could only stare. She was in skintight white breeches, knee-high polished black boots, a collared snow-white top and some sort of weird looking black waistcoat thing with a long part in the back that reminded him of 18th century English attire. And she had some kind of weird top hat thing on.

Strange, these horse people, he thought for about the millionth time.

"Now, you know your pattern," John was saying. He shoved the reins at Dean, who held them, looking uncertainly at the big horse―he'd been informed by a grinning Christopher that the gelding was a _dapple gray_―and more importantly the dark eye nearest him.

Storm's ears were pricked forward, and the eyes free of malice. In fact, they seemed almost . . . _gentle_. He simply looked at Dean, stretching his neck out, and before Dean could react warm breath was fanning over his cheek and that velvet soft muzzle was nudging his cheek. He grinned foolishly and reached up to stroke his great head, and Storm lowered his head slightly into the caress.

He petted the horse absently, noticing that this saddle was black and longer than the ones he'd seen Chris and Paige in previously. Whatever they were doing, it was rather formal.

"Get him nice and warmed up, go through the most difficult movements, get him listening to you and on the bit," John said, flitting about like a worried mother.

"I _know_ grandpa," said Paige, grinning up at John with great affection. "This _isn't _my first time in a dressage ring, you know."

John's expression softened. "I know," he sighed. "I'll give you a leg up. Dean, hold him steady."

He helped her up into the saddle and patted her thigh. "I'll be watching," he said, putting the reins over Storm's head. "Just stay focused. We want as high of a score as we can get."

Paige nodded and gathered her reins, nudging her horse to trot off to the warm up ring.

That started the boredom. Dean sat beside John, running through the list of monsters he knew in his head, because the stands were utterly silent except for occasional whispered comments. The horses and riders were doing some sort of pattern thing, he could see it, but had not a clue what the hell they were doing so it was beyond boring.

Paige and Storm looked fancy, though, he noted, and the judges at the table were watching them closely. Dean rested his cheek against his fist and watched; they moved as one, and while it didn't make a lick of sense to Dean, he couldn't deny the fact that the horse's movements were graceful, even beautiful.

It seemed to go on for ages, John muttering under his breath the entire time, about what Dean hadn't a clue because it sounded like it was in a different language.

And, finally, the horse came to a halt and Paige did some weird salute thing, touching her hand to her hat and sweeping it down to her hip, bowing her head as she did so. She held it for about two seconds before raising her head with a triumphant grin, and beside Dean, John whooped with joy. She left the arena at a walk, dismounting as soon as she was back near the warm up arena.

"Good boy, Storm!" Paige gushed, hugging her gelding tightly around the neck.

"Did you see the score!" John gushed, sweeping her up in a hug and swinging her around. "A thirty percent! Phenomenal!"

"Thirty percent?" Dean said confusedly. "Out of a hundred?"

"It's reversed," Paige explained, rubbing Storm affectionately. "That means I got a seven or better on each movement, so it's seventy, subtracted from a hundred, which makes it 30."

"Oh. Lower the better?"

"That's the idea," she grinned, so elated over their performance she couldn't stop grinning. "Ally will do better. She's always been better at the overall. Storm does well in dressage but he excels at anything involving jumps."

"Go warm him down, honey," John urged, patting the gelding's neck as he left to help Chris.

"Yes, sir," she mocked with a grin. Before she could even put a foot in the stirrup, however, a smaller blonde girl all but tackled her.

"Sissy!"

"Jillian!" Paige exclaimed, hugging the girl tightly, beaming even wider. "I thought your class wasn't until later!"

"Oh, it's not," the beaming blonde girl assured her big sister. "I begged Mom to let me come early so I could watch you and Chris. Only a little longer, and I get to come back to TC! I'm so excited!"

"Me too!" Paige hugged her little sister again, smiling tenderly as Jillian enthusiastically hugged Storm as well.

"You did awesome today bud!" Jillian gushed, and Storm just snorted as if to say of course he'd done well, he was a superb eventing horse after all!

"Who are you competing on?" Paige wondered, fondling Storm's ears.

"Oh, I'm riding Windsong, the new pony dad got for me last year," Jillian gushed, eyes sparkling. "She's so pretty, sissy, I can't wait for you to see her! She's all white, so she's a nightmare to keep clean, but she jumps like a dream and her movements are great. Dad things I'll get at least third this year…beat out stupid Hannah Grayson. And you scored higher than Whitney which is just awesome!"

"Well, what do we have here," a voice said behind them.

Dean turned to see a blonde woman standing there in a pristine white suit. The girls sobered immediately, both of them stiffening.

"Mother," Jillian said, scuffing her boot on the dirt, as Paige just glared.

"Don't do that, Claire dear, you'll mess up your polishing!" the woman scolded, pulling Jillian towards her. "You go and get Windsong ready for the ring, young lady, your class is in a couple of hours and you must be prepared!" Jillian hugged Paige goodbye and left without saying another word.

Paige was still glaring at the woman, and Storm's ears had flattened against his skull. It didn't escape Dean's notice that Paige's hands were so tight on the reins he could hear her knuckles cracking.

"Didn't expect much better of a performance, out of that old hag," the woman said coldly, sliding her glasses down her nose a little to focus ice-cold blue eyes on Paige. "I don't know why you ever even bother with him . . . you will never make it to the top, not with that good-for-nothing horse and father of yours."

"This _good for nothing _horse has won me every horse show the past year and a half and is worth more than a hundred thousand dollars," Paige said coldly through gritted teeth. "And he has a name. It's Storm. Not that _you _care."

"You are nothing but a failure," the woman said with an angry sneer. "Good for nothing, do you hear me, you never were! A complete waste of space, poisoning the air I breathe!"

Dean was suddenly wishing John was here, but he'd left to help Chris get ready.

Those were tears forming in Paige's eyes. Without another word, Paige mounted Storm and trotted off to the warm-down ring, shoulders stiff. Storm was agitated and tossing his head frequently, but the girl didn't seem to notice.

"I think you should leave," Dean said coldly, glaring at the woman. She just smirked at him, turned on her heel, and left, her perfect suit shining in the sunshine. He glared after her.

There was a lot of clanging from behind him. He missed the warning shout, and next thing he knew, he was flat on the dirt, his ribs aching as he sat up, winded and confused.

A girl leaned over him, dark-haired and beautiful.

"Sorry," she said softly, helping him up. "I tried to warn you . . . Mystic doesn't like getting out of the trailer much. She didn't mean to kick you, honest, you were just kind of, well, in her way I guess. Are you okay?"

"Fine," he managed, climbing to his feet. Two men were leading away a distressed bay horse, but he just grabbed at his ribs.

"Anna Grayson," the girl said, sticking her hand out.

"Dean Winchester," he replied, shaking the proffered hand. "I should, uh, probably get going."

_And find an ice pack_, he added mentally. His ribs hurt like hell.

/

It was after dinner, and Dean was exhausted. He'd been up since before dawn, and now that they were done with showing for the day, was glad to be rid of the horses. They'd re-loaded them into the trailer and taken a short trip to the mansion of Paige's relatives just outside Colorado Springs, who were apparently away on vacation. The horses had been bedded down in the substantial stable, and he was ready for bed, too.

Everyone was in high spirits at dinner, however, because Chris was standing second in the rankings for his class; Paige second as well; Jillian first; and Ally first, as well (Paige's prediction had been correct). Despite that Paige had hardly said a word, barely even touching her food.

They'd waited to drop the bomb on him, it seemed.

Tomorrow he had to be up at four.

_In the morning._

Madness.

John was briefly taking him through the history of the Brotherhood while they walked down the stable isle.

"It is a Brotherhood because we always hunt in pairs," John was saying, hands tucked behind his back. Dean mimicked him. "Never hunting alone has always been a rule of ours, less people die that way. We share information through the network, that's the point of the whole thing. We, the Conclave that is, are more of organizers than anything."

Dean nodded, and wasn't surprised when John ran to the office to answer the ringing phone. He'd gotten brief snippets about the Brotherhood all day and as Chris had said, the older man was easily distracted.

In summation: the Brotherhood of Hunters, the Brotherhood for short, had been founded long ago and based out of Thunder Creek, Wyoming, a town founded by the founders of the Brotherhood, John Newbern and John Baraldi, firsts of their name. Many hunters had been enlisted, so to speak, or had been groomed to join since early childhood. In a sense, it was kind of like a cult in that fashion; they trained from early on the basis of hunting. It was almost like the military, he'd realized, only fighting evil monsters instead of enemies of the US. Men were put through some sort of trial at age eighteen, and if they passed they became full-fledged members; if they failed, they were on probation until they passed; as far as he could tell none had ever failed repeatedly enough to be kicked out. They were then partnered with an older, more experienced hunter until they knew enough to hunt with hunters nearer their age; some stayed with their initial trainer, and some moved around to find a hunting partner suitable to their personalities and specialties, for example Daniel Elkins, who was primarily a vampire hunter. (Vampires! Ha! These guys were weird, that was for sure).

Oh, and the fact that Paige and Chris were practically hunting _royalty, _on top of being the Kennedy's of Wyoming, so to speak. From what he could tell, these people were loaded, and had family members through every upper level of society, be it political, military, scientific, whatever.

It was a little strange to Dean, being around these people, seeing as his entire life, his family had been scamming and stealing just to survive. These hunters were rich and survived just fine.

He wandered up the aisle, aware John would likely forget about him. So he took a moment to greet each horse. The creatures were starting to grow on him. Sighing, he made his way back up to the house, to be met with a frantic Chris in the entry hall.

"Have you seen Paige?" Chris said, panic in his voice. "I can't find her!"

"Dude, relax, I'm sure she's fine," Dean said slowly and with great confusion.

Chris threaded his fingers through his hair in desperation. "No, she's not fine!" he cried. "Our birth mother―the poisonous bitch―was here today and said some things to her! Her head is never on straight after that witch comes by, she always knows just what to say to make Paige doubt herself in everything!"

Before Dean could so much as prompt a further explanation, Chris ran back up the stairs shouting her name.

Dean had an idea and went back outside, heading for the stables. He stopped at Storm's stall, reaching up to pat the big dapple gray's neck. Storm snorted but stood still, studying the boy through half-lidded eyes. He shifted to one side after a moment, turning his head around, and Dean knew immediately his hunch had been right.

Paige looked at him bleakly through tear-filled eyes, wiping furiously at her cheeks. The gelding snuffed in concern and nuzzled her cheeks, prompting a weak smile out of her.

Something shifted in Dean. It hurt him, physically hurt him, to see such anguish in those eyes; those blue eyes, the ones that haunted him in his dreams. Every time he closed his goddamn eyes, he saw them. To see her in such torment tore at some part of him he never knew he'd had; he _wanted _to get to know this girl, wanted her to smile at him with the same tenderness she'd shown her sister today, the same tenderness she showed her horse. It shook him to the core―he liked girls well enough, they were nice to kiss and good in bed and usually fell for his handsome features, but this girl was just, simply, _different_.

"Are you okay?" Dean said hesitantly, softly, as one would speak to a frightened animal they did not want to bolt.

She shook her head and buried her face in the gelding's neck.

"Was that your mother today? The one that said all of those mean things?"

Her blonde ponytail bobbed as she nodded against the gelding's neck, taking comfort from the soft and solid warmth of his presence. A muffled sob came from her, and her shoulders shook.

Oh, geez. She was crying.

Suddenly, he understood Noah's reaction to it. Dean would do _anything_ to make it stop.

"Hey," he said softly, unlatching the stall door and stepping in. Storm didn't seem to object to his presence, looking at him as if to say _do something_. He reached out and gently touched her shoulder. "Look, I have no idea what went on, or how that drissat thing or whatever works, but you guys looked great out there, and you're in second place. That's not a failure in my book. _You're_ not a failure."

"Dressage," she corrected, voice muffled in Storm's neck.

"What?"

"It's Dressage, not drissat."

"Oh. Sorry."

Paige could hear the shrug in his voice and smiled a little, finally lifting her head, wiping at her tearstained cheeks. She smiled weakly at Dean. "Thanks," she sniffed, hand stroking down the gelding's soft neck again and again. And, just because it seemed like the right thing to do, she leaned into him and hugged him tightly.

Dean was surprised but wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him. He'd never really had to deal with weeping women before, but knew that hugs usually helped. So he rested his chin on the top of her head and just stood there.

He understood a little better, now, the bond between horse and rider. He'd seen the way Storm acted around her; it was clear as day he'd do anything he could to make her happy, to anything she wanted him to do. And, now, he understood why she'd been so angry at him for spooking the gelding. Storm was more than just a horse―he was her best friend. Why the hell else would she run to his stall to comfort, instead of the arms of her father or brother, or stepmother for that matter?

"So, is this a truce, then?" he said, just to break the silence, his usual smirk back in place.

Paige pulled away, and he let her go. She smiled, and he couldn't help but notice that it lacked its usual emotion. He waited for her answer as he left the stall, latching it behind him.

"Until tomorrow," she decided with a shrug, returning to stroking her gelding's soft neck.

Dean just smiled and shook his head . . . he'd never understand the way her mind worked. So, he hurried inside to tell Chris what he'd found, before the crazed teenager tore the damn house apart looking for her.

* * *

><p><strong>Colorado Springs, Colorado<strong>  
>April 9, 1994<p>

The next day, at four in the goddamn morning, the kids were rolled out of bed (in Dean's case literally; Brad tipped the mattress to dump him on the floor). Down the stairs they stumbled to breakfast, before the riders were off to get ready.

As the morning progressed, Dean realized Paige was pretending their little conversation yesterday had never happened and was back to either ignoring him or treating him like he only had half a brain.

Fine. Let her act like she was five he didn't care.

Except he did.

By the time they got the show grounds, everyone was tense and irritated, except Paige and Chris and Ally, who were so wrapped up in their horses that nothing else seemed to matter.

Today, apparently, was Cross Country. Dean mostly sat on the end of the trailer as he watched the three riders getting ready.

Paige was wearing a turquoise blue shirt under her vest, and had coordinated the color to Storm, who had a turquoise saddle pad and wraps on his legs. She was in breeches again with knee-high boots, but the saddle was back to the one Dean had seen beforehand, the one not like the dressage saddle. Chris was wearing light green and had coordinated it to Admiral, while Ally was wearing orange. Apparently, this was the event where they got to use color.

He watched while they rubbed grease all over their horse's chests and legs, to "help them slide over tough obstacles", Chris had said briefly before heading off to warm up Admiral.

Leaving Dean alone, again, and bored out of his mind. By eight the show was in full swing, as the courses were prepped and ready to go.

Dean went to the halfway point of the course with John, who had a walkie-talkie that linked him to Brad and Ally's father, Tony, whom he'd met very briefly, set up one at the beginning and one at the end, to keep in contact. In a golf cart, they'd take shortcuts to the nearest jumps to observe. Dean was to be the radio man.

The jump halfway through the course was a water jump, with the horse jumping and landing in water; tricky, as the horse had to trust the rider because they didn't know how deep the water was, according to John.

The first horse through, a chestnut, was labored by the halfway point, and Dean had no idea how it did at the end. The next three cleared the jumps easily, but the one after that crashed. Badly.

Dean could only watch in horror as the horse's front legs caught the obstacle, throwing his rider free, as the horse dropped off the incline and landed on his side in the water with an almighty splash and several people screamed. Both appeared fine, but the horse was rushed off to the nearest vet just in case, the rider to the nearest doctor.

All too soon, Brad's voice come on the walkie-talkie announcing that Paige and Storm had left, clearing the first three jumps with no issue. He would watch the TV screen to monitor her progress and keep them updated.

Nine jumps and two relieved men later, she was nearing the halfway point, where John was with Dean.

"Here they come," John announced, pointing, and sure enough Storm had appeared over the rise, running towards the jump. It was beyond nerve-racking for Dean―those things were solid! What would happen if Storm misjudged, if he fell? Would she be crushed, as the earlier rider almost had been? Would Storm break his legs? This was insane! They couldn't even see over the jump, had no idea what it was, what was in store for them; they were jumping blind!

As they approached, Dean found his heart in his throat. He didn't want to see her get hurt, or Storm either, and knew how badly this could go for both.

Storm shot up the rise with powerful strides from his hindquarters, ears flicking back as he listened to his rider. He gathered himself and launched up over the jump, feet tucked neatly underneath him, head going up a bit when he noticed it was water, Paige practically standing in her stirrups and leaning back so far her head was just above the horse's rump to compensate for the drop. Storm landed, stumbling slightly before regaining his footing and continuing on at a strong canter, almost but not quite a gallop as Paige regained her balance and pushed onward.

Dean heaved out a sigh of relief. They hadn't died, as he'd feared, were, in fact, fine.

Onto the golf cart he went, John speeding up the path to the next jump. Dean observed it, a boat of some kind, and was skeptical, but both rider and horse were focused. They cleared it fine.

It continued like this, until they made it to the finish line at a dead gallop. Paige pumped a fist in the air as she passed over the finish line and saw her time, faster than any other before, leaning down to clap her gelding on his lathered neck.

Paige was in first now, her time nearly fifteen seconds faster than the previous first place holder. There were eight riders left in her class.

"Good job, honey," John congratulated her, squeezing her thigh affectionately.

"He just barely landed that water jump correctly," she said, walking her horse as Dean and John walked beside them. Storm's flanks were heaving from exertion, lathered from his run, head slightly lower than usual with weariness.

At the end of the day, she was still in first, beating Whitney Grayson by four seconds.

Dean was too exhausted to talk to anyone and passed out as soon as dinner was over and he'd gotten a shower.

* * *

><p><strong>Colorado Springs, CO<strong>  
>April 10, 1994<p>

The third day dawned just as early. This time, show jumping, Chris had explained.

Dean didn't care. He just went through the motions, so tired his mind was almost numb.

Today was more new tack, similar to yesterday's but again more formal. Storm seemed to have recovered nicely from his tiredness yesterday, had gotten his legs checked by a vet, and was raring to go. He seemed to know what was next, and that it was his favorite.

The pair entered the ring, and it was like the first time Dean had watched them compete. As if possessed they attacked the course, the horse never stumbling, never faltering in his mission to _win_. He cleared each jump with inches to spare, doing just what was asked of him and then some, giving it everything he had to make his rider happy.

Paige won by four seconds, putting her in first place overall and champion of her class for the 3 Day Event. She threw her hands up in the air and pumped them triumphantly, grinning hugely as she clapped her horse on the neck, acknowledging him for his hard work and dedication as she waved at the crowd and cantered from the arena.

Chris on Admiral won as well, as did Ally on War Machine.

Three blue ribbons were on display on the dash the entire ride back to Thunder Creek.

As soon as he got there, Dean crashed, exhausted.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<strong>  
>April 11, 1994<p>

At nine the next morning, he was awoken by the slamming of a door. His head shot up, bleary eyes regarding John.

"Come on, boy," he said gruffly. "There's a shit ton you've got to learn, and your dad will be here to get you tomorrow."

That meant more sleepless nights, Dean sighed, but dressed quickly and ran after the leader of the Brotherhood.

At the end of the day, he realized that Chris had been right.

John and Brad were hardasses, drilling him relentlessly, giving him a crash course on the Brotherhood in seventeen hours. His mind ached from the strain and sheer informational overload.

All the same, he promised he'd be back to take the Trails.

He'd rather have someone guarding his back, maybe someone like Noah or Chris. God only knew he patched up his dad way more than he needed to.

/

"Going back home, huh?"

Dean turned, still petting Storm's neck, to look at Chris. "Yeah," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I've learned what my dad sent me here for. Never would have imagined a Brotherhood of hunters, but I like the way they operate. I'll be back when I'm old enough."

"Good to know," Chris said, reaching up to pat Storm's neck as well. "Coming back just for the Brotherhood?"

He gave his friend a quizzical look. "Why else?" he wondered.

"I'll give you a hint," Chris said with a grin, holding a hand up, "about this tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, fiery temper, nicknamed Ice Queen by you and Fire-Breathing Dragon/Barracuda by us."

"I don't know what you mean." Dean didn't make eye contact though.

"Sure you don't," he snorted, shaking his head. "You like her, Dean, I can see it in your face. And don't even try to lie."

"She's freaking annoying and stubborn as hell."

"Sounds like somebody else I know."

Dean gritted his teeth but remained silent.

"There's nothing wrong with liking a girl, Dean," Chris said conversationally. "I'd prefer it not be my baby sister, but, well, you two seem to have a kind of _spark_, don't you?"

"Except that _I _don't like girls," Dean said, "not like that. I'm the bed 'em and leave 'em type. I don't do commitment."

"Well, when you've thought that over and decided what you really want, we'll all still be here," Chris said, as the Impala pulled up. Dean had already said his goodbyes, to everyone but Ally and Paige. He hadn't been able to find them. "Tell the girls bye for me, will you?"

"Sure thing," Chris said, walking out of the barn with Dean. "I'll see you in a few years, then?"

"You will," Dean promised, shaking Chris hand. "Thanks for everything. I learned a lot. And I kind of like horses now, too."

"It's not easy, Dean, being what we are," said Chris cryptically. "Just remember we have to stick together. I'll see you soon. You still have to meet the rest of the Horde, too."

Dean waved and got in the Impala. He'd repressed the urge to say goodbye to Paige. Something in him didn't want to, knew it would be too painful; the other half wanted to get the hell away before more feelings developed and he actually grew _attached _to her or something.

As Thunder Creek faded into his rearview mirror, Dean's mind was telling him that he was free, but his he art knew something different.

She had left a mark on him, the fiery blonde haired, blue-eyed girl, a mark that would be left by no other; a space that could be filled by no other.

He pulled _Moby Dick _out of his backpack, fingers running over the well-loved cover, and cracked it open to the first page. Something, however, was tucked there that he did not expect.

It was a snapshot of Paige and Storm, after they'd cleared the final jump on the show jumping course, her hands fisted in the air in triumph, Storm's ears pricked forward. The look on her face was pure _joy_. He knew instantly who had put it there, and shaking his head at Chris' insight, thankful at this one picture he'd been gifted of his blue-eyed angel.

/

Dean slept fretfully that night.

Blue eyes plagued his dreams and nightmares alike, and no matter how hard he tried in the next four years, he would never forget her weak smile nor her tear-filled eyes; wouldn't be able to completely repress the feeling of her arms around him, the scent of her coconut shampoo, her grin of triumph as she cleared the last fence of the jumping competition as the victor. He wouldn't be able to forget the fiery spirit in her eyes, the determination to win, the vulnerability after her birth mother's cruel words.

It mattered not how hard he tried.

Always, always, it came back to those damn blue eyes―his blessing, and his curse.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: And that's a wrap. Holy bejesus that was long. Lots of drabbles so it's kind of chopped up, a little uneven at times. I didn't delve into feelings as much as I'd like to have, but I need to get this thing posted and on with the story.

Only did the horse stuff, btw, because Paige makes it to Nationals aboard Storm . . . and Dean watches it on TV. I figured he needed to know what the hell was going on before he saw it, and this seemed the best way to do it.

Also, I'm so sore from my riding lesson I can barely walk. Holy crap, posting is tiring…

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
>:D<strong>


	19. Freaky Mind Powers of the White Blondes

**A/N: **Some backstory to Connie and Cole. I hope it helps explain some of the . . . oddities . . . about the pair.

**Disclaimer**: Own everything but Winchesters and Bobby.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nineteen<br>**The Freaky Mind Powers of the White-Blonde Pair

**Thunder Creek, WY  
><strong>April 11, 1995

Constance Brennan slammed her door behind her so hard the windows shook throughout the house. Didn't make a difference to her, however, as she gave her bedpost a solid kick for good measure and collapsed face-down on her bed. She was sick of her parent's questions, it seemed like all they did was _ask and ask and ask_ how she could do the things she could.

But that was just it.

She didn't _know _how she could do the things she could do. She just _could_.

Huffing, she rolled over and stared at the picture of the horde she had taped to the side of her dresser, wishing she was with grandpa and them instead of here in this stupid hot house without its air conditioning. It was some comfort they were going to grandpa's for dinner―and she could unload on Noah 'cuz he never minded and never told the other kids anything she said―but she wanted to go there now.

"Constance Isabella Rose," her father's voice bellowed through the door. "I was not done speaking with you!"

"Well I'm done speaking to you!" she bellowed back.

"I'm counting to five before I kick down this door―"

"FINE!"

"One."

Connie ignored him, crossing her arms and glaring with all her might out the window.

Cracks appeared on the glass.

She didn't notice.

"Two," and her father's voice rose a notch.

The cracks widened.

She still didn't notice.

"Three," he was shouting now.

And still, they widened further, and she didn't notice. She thought of her grandpa and how he never yelled and how she really, really wanted to be with him . . .

"FOUR," oh, so he'd reached the bellow then. Next would be the roar.

She squeezed her eyes shut and pictured her grandma's kitchen, pie cooling on the window and dinner in the oven. The horses grazing in the paddocks. Her grandpa in his favorite chair, book propped open, calloused fingers sliding gently over the pages as he turned them and reveled in the secrets they divulged.

Three things happened simultaneously.

Her dad reached the end― "FIVE!" he roared―as the sound of splintering wood filled her ears, and not even a second later, there was a sharp inner tug at her naval. Freezing blackness enveloped her, no sight, no sound, no feeling, no nothing. She opened her mouth to scream―

And she landed on her knees in Mary Newbern's kitchen.

* * *

><p>"Oh, will you <em>grow up<em> already," Noah snapped irritably, shoving his little brother away from him. Their age difference was more than irritating, even at the best of times, because Cole had been spoiled rotten by his father and his grandparents, and as a result, was a petulant little brat who thought he was god's gift to humanity. He'd always privately thought that it was their way of trying to make up for him never having a mother, seeing as she'd been killed in a nursery fire when Cole was a baby and Noah was seven.

Go figure.

"Shut up," retorted Cole angrily, hands fisting at his sides. "It's my damn game!"

"It's the family's game," he corrected sharply, pulling it back across the table towards him.

"It's _mine_!"

"You think _everything _is yours."

"Do not!"

"Uh, yeah, you do."

"I DO NOT!"

"What are you, five?"

"Mom would make you give it back," Cole snapped, nostrils flaring. He didn't realize his mistake until Noah's hand was clenched around his collar and he was propelled through the air to crash painfully into the wall so hard he cracked his head and his vision blurred.

"You don't have a clue what mom would do, you never even _knew _her," Noah snarled in his brother's face, struggling to rein in his temper. "So don't talk about her like you do!"

"She would have loved me better! I'm not an arrogant know-it-all who bullies everyone into submission!"

"Like hell she would have! You're a spoiled, petulant, selfish, self-centered, stuck-up little boy," he growled, pointedly ignoring his little brother's stabs at his character.

Cole felt something in him recoil from his brother's fury, even as his own fury rose in response. He knew he was wrong, but so was Noah.

Noah released Cole abruptly. "I didn't mean that," he said tiredly, rubbing a hand through his hair. He took a step towards his brother, hand outstretched, but stopped when he saw the tears swirling in his brother's eyes. "I didn't, Coley. I didn't mean it," he repeated, forcefully. "You're just too damn good a pushing my buttons."

"I _hate_ you," Cole spat, and wished he were anywhere but here. He screwed his eyes shut and thought of his happiest memories. There was a sharp tug at his naval, and freezing cold, lack of senses. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't feel―

And he landed on his face in Mary Newbern's kitchen.

* * *

><p>Noah could only stare in shock.<p>

His brother had vanished.

Into _thin air._

* * *

><p>Mary Newbern was looking forward to seeing all her grandbabies today. It wasn't summer yet, and the Baraldi kids weren't present, but the rest of her grandbabies were and by God, she was going to make a fine dinner.<p>

And enough food to feed a small army, seeing as she literally would be feeding a small army with all those boys.

She hummed absently as she worked, pulling the two pies out of the oven while she visually checked the potatoes, the yams, and the green bean casserole. Satisfied they were fine, she closed the oven and set the pies―apple and cherry―on the window ledge to cool. Barbeque scents wafted from the backyard, where John and Brad were hard at work with the grill.

Chris and Paige were outside, playing with their baby siblings, two-year-old Gunnar and one-year-old Lily, fondly called Lilybug or just Bug. Oh, but those two little ones were just precious. She couldn't be happier that her son, her only son, had found happiness again, and something to ease the pain of Garrett's passing all those years ago. The older three seemed to just adore their baby siblings too, and now that they'd had time to adjust, adored Debbie as well.

Smiling, she headed to the cupboard to get down the plates, and screamed in shock at the two loud popping noises followed by a simultaneous thump-thud-groan-groan. Hand over her heart, she could only stare, mouth agape in shock.

Connie was on her knees, as shocked as Mary, and Cole was sprawled on his side staring up at her in detached wonder and horror, a strange mixture on his face.

All Mary had time to wonder was how in the hell they'd managed to appear _literally _out of thin air, because they sure as heck hadn't been there four seconds ago and it was a long walk across the kitchen to the door (and she happened to know the two had been safely at home . . . or at least, they _had _been), before the cavalry came running in response to her scream.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<strong>  
>April 12, 1995<p>

Connie was irritated.

_More _questions.

This time, from the entire Conclave, including her father. They'd been blabbing for hours, she was tired, she really needed to pee, her stomach was devouring itself from sheer starvation, and she'd already whittled an entire forest scene on both arms of her chair and had ran out of wood to work with.

"Can you do it across the room, Connie?" her grandpa wondered, his kind eyes not judging.

Sighing, she sheathed her knife and hopped off her chair, complying by teleporting to right beside his chair. He didn't jump or yell in shock, simply smiled and patted her shoulder, suggesting she go back to her chair.

She teleported to it.

Much faster.

After swearing they wouldn't tell any of their sibs―including Noah―Connie and Cole had snuck off to practice teleporting together. They'd gotten quite good at it, and could do it with pretty much no noise, though she did it with minimal concentration while he had to concentrate hard.

So, the Conclave brainstormed ideas, casting aside the assumption that Connie had been one of the Yellow Eyed Demon's children like Cole, because she could do multiple things (set fires, move stuff with her mind, teleport, etc.) and he only one. And, Connie had been born with solid jet-black eyes that had faded to her normal blue in seconds, and until now, Bill and Karen had just assumed it was a trick of the light. Now, they weren't so sure. She had demon in her, yes, but none had realized just how much.

"I think it wise to keep her here," John said finally, rubbing his palms together. Connie and Cole had since fallen asleep in their chairs. "Both of them," he amended. "You must move Connie here, Bill, and your family, where she can be watched and your family awarded the protection these lands provide. Their powers are not as potent here. I would stress keeping them inside the boundaries of Thunder Creek as much as possible, it seems that it lays dormant their demonic personality traits."

"Not completely," one of the men muttered, it was difficult to tell whom.

"Then make them bracelets," Bobby suggested. "Solid iron bracelets with devils traps, keep their energies isolated, block off the flow between their human and demon sides. It'll make their lives easier, not having to fight it all the time."

"More research must be done," John Baraldi said gravely, looking at each of them in turn. "Search for more children like Cole, for he cannot be the only one. And get us more information on this demon, and why we believe he is giving human babies demon blood. We need the complete picture, gentlemen. Agreed?"

"Agreed," the room chorused, and emptied, the children carried safely back to their own homes, with pure iron bracelets around their left wrists.

* * *

><p>EN: I love these two, so much fun, and a big part of FTGF . . . which I really need to get going on . . .

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
>(and faster updates...haven't felt too motivated lately, not many reviews)<strong>  
><strong>:D<strong>


	20. Valley of the Shadow of Death

**A/N**: Went back in time a year . . . this should have been Ch19. My bad. I'll fix it later. This one was . . . hard to write. I'll just leave it at that.

**Disclaimer**: Only own my OCs.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty<br>**Valley of the Shadow of Death

**Thunder Creek, WY  
><strong>November 12, 1994

Chris sat quietly, hands on his knees, and watched his sister's gentle, loving smile as she tended to her beloved gelding, who was half-asleep and quite content to let her scratch the itchy spot on his neck as much as she wanted to. He pushed back all memories of today, the fact that his dad was still at the hospital with _her_, that Jillian had a concussion, and just focused on Paige.

She was his baby sister, his best friend, his blood.

He loved her.

It was worth it.

* * *

><p><em>Earlier<em>

"Hey, baby girl," Chris greeted Paige with a warm grin, tugging the end of her braid. Paige glared at him. "How long have you been up?"

"Since dawn. Stupid rooster. I'm seriously considering shooting it."

"Move to the other side of the house."

"I'm not letting some stupid _bird_ change my habits, no sir," she pronounced, striding out of the house with purpose.

It had been a normal start to a day fresh out of Chris Newbern's personal hell.

When that woman drove up, he should have _known_. He should have known it would only end badly. The only upside was Jillian waving from the back seat.

Chris watched with a sort of morbid fascination as his birth mother got out of the Mercedes. She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and smiled weakly at him.

"Hello, Christopher," she said, and she sounded . . . different. Happier, maybe? She had regained her youthful body, no longer bearing deep shadows beneath her eyes and the stench of alcohol. "Do you think you and your sister would mind taking a drive with me? We have a lot to talk about."

He could feel his expression hardening. She hadn't been there for _years_. Years! And here she was, sauntering back into their lives―

"Please, Chris," Wendy pleaded. "I'm sober, have been for almost a year and a half. I'm getting re-married, and I worry all the time about how your sister feels being away from you so often. Just give me a chance to explain myself. Please."

"Alright," he said reluctantly, tone sour. "Wait there. I'll go get Paige."

To say his sister was pissed would be an understatement, and after thirty minutes and every ounce of charm and wit he possessed as well as the mention of Jillian, he talked her into at least _sitting _there. And so he and his sister assured their father all was well and got into their birth mother's car. The sun was just starting to set.

"Are you guys wondered?" Wendy wondered.

"Debbie cooks dinner," Jillian said instantly, sparing her siblings the need to talk.

Chris and Paige were silent, and the blonde woman sighed mournfully.

"I was a horrible mother," she said honestly. "I treated you two terribly after your father and I lost Garrett. I don't know why, I guess it was because some part of me thought if I doted on your sister, he would come back to us." Her laugh was bitter and Jillian shifted uncomfortably in the back seat, shooting her older siblings a guilty look. Paige just put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently.

"I knew better, but I sank into denial. Started to treat you two like my father treated me when we were little, after my sister Kim died. Janell and Jason were the angels, and I could do no right. And I know that doesn't excuse me actions, or all the hurt and pain that I have caused," Wendy finished.

"You're right," Paige said frostily. "It doesn't."

Wendy's expression was pained. They were near the interstate now, had passed through Thunder Creek and been driving for some time. Darkness fell as the last of the sun's rays disappeared over the mountains, the glow slowly fading from the sky.

"I am not asking for an apology," Wendy said, "only a chance to at least _try _and make it up to you―"

Bright white light filled Chris' vision, and before he could scream a warning, or even finish inhaling, a semi-truck out of control from sliding on black ice had slammed into the side of the Mercedes, pushing them down the hill.

* * *

><p>Chris came to slowly, his head spinning and ears ringing. He was upside down, aching all over, and not quite sure what had happened. Something warm and sticky was making his face itch, so he scratched the spot, staring at his maroon finger in fascination.<p>

Blood?

Why was he bleeding?

Groggily, he unbuckled his seat belt, falling painfully on the hood of the car with a grunt. His mother was upside-down as well and unconscious, but not mortally wounded. There was no one in the back. Wasn't there supposed to be someone in the back?

Glass pinched into his skin, but he didn't notice, even as he climbed out of the broken window and looked around. It was dark, and he was kneeling in the center of a crossroad. There was a building, but it was dark, probably one of the summertime roadhouses. He thought maybe it was the Shamrock, but there wasn't enough light to read the sign. Using the car's broken frame, he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet.

He saw Jillian first, and stumbled to her with a horrified cry, rolling her over. She had a huge lump on her head but was breathing easily. He settled her down gently and struggled to his feet again, and then he saw her.

Blonde hair, once so beautiful, was now matted with blood. There was a huge gash across her forehead that had spread blood down one side of her face. Lifeless blue eyes stared out at him. Her body was twisted at an unnatural angle, slumped half on one side, lines of blood trickling from her nose and the corner of her mouth.

For a long moment, he could only stare in shock as his mind tried to deny what his eyes were showing him.

"NO!"

The word tore from his throat, every ounce of anguish, fear, helplessness, horror, put into that one simple word, so harshly that his throat felt as if it were bleeding.

His knees crashed to the asphalt beside her as he lifted her from the ground and cradled her to his chest, agony tearing through him. Paige was dead. _His baby sister was dead_.

For how long he sat there, he didn't know. The night was as dark as ever and her skin grew colder against his hands and chest. Finally, he remembered something his grandfather had told him once, long ago, about summoning a crossroads demon.

Chris settled his sister gently on the ground and stumbled back to the car. He ripped open his little sister's backpack and found her metal lunchbox, dumping out the contents, before rifling through his mother's purse for a picture of him. Feverishly, he gathered everything else he would need and headed to the dead center of the crossroad, digging a hole with his hands until his fingers bled, but he did not notice.

This was his only chance. It had to work. It was his fault Paige had been there in the first place, he'd talked her into going!

He stomped the dirt back into place, his heart pounding unevenly as the tears streamed down his face. Nothing happened, but the night seemed to have stilled.

"Well, well . . . a Newbern, at my crossroads," a female voice said behind him, and he turned to face an attractive blonde woman. "Here to make a deal, prodigy boy?"

Chris lifted his chin and stared her down. "I want my sister back," he said, "for the exchange of ten years."

The demon's lips curled into a mocking smile.

* * *

><p>"Paige?"<p>

Chris' voice called her back to consciousness. Paige stirred and opened her eyes, to find herself lying in her brother's lap and aching all over. His eyes stared down at her, filled with relief, cast into alternating shadow and light by flashing red and blue.

"Chris?" she mumbled confusedly, squinting up at him. There was something . . . different. She remembered . . . what did she remember? White shores, she recalled, far green country into dazzling sunrise . . . the laughing voices of her great-grandparents, a small blonde boy with a cheeky grin who looked exactly like Jillian, only male. Where had she been? Where was she now?

"It's okay, baby girl," he soothed, kissing her forehead. "The paramedics are going to check you out. You hit your head pretty hard when you got ejected from the car."

"Car?" she repeated numbly, as two paramedics appeared and lifted her gently to a stretcher. Her gaze turned to the vehicle, upside down, but that was the last thing she saw as her vision tinged to black.

* * *

><p>Paige felt unsettled, wrong somehow, as she was led from the hospital by a procession of her entire family. Noah and Chris each had a hand under her elbow, keeping her steady and aiding them in lifting her into the car. She was fine, perfectly healthy except for the scrape on her forehead, and still not sure exactly what had happened. All she knew was that the doctors had been astonished she had escaped with little to no injury, while her mother lay in a temporary medically-induced coma and her little sister had a concussion. The truck driver who had hit them had died of his injuries.<p>

She leaned heavily into Chris' side the entire drive home, concerned conversation swirling around her. When she saw the lights from the familiar ranch house, she knew she would be assaulted with questions and turned to her brother.

"Chris?" she mumbled.

"What is it, baby girl?"

"Can you take me to Storm?" Paige's voice broke on the gelding's name. Maybe being in his presence would make the sense of wrongness go away. Her memory of the other place was fading, but she remembered a deep soothing voice and the bright cleanliness of it all.

"Sure." Chris scooped her up in his arms as soon as they were out of the car and marched her to the barn without a backward glance. As soon as he stepped through, an urgent nicker took their attention.

Paige smiled through her tears and asked her brother to put her down outside the gelding's stall. Storm was nickering urgently, and buried his muzzle in her chest as soon as she was near enough. She smoothed her hands over his head, his ears, brushed her forelock with his fingers and murmured soothing words. Unable to hold it back any longer, she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his soft shoulder, and cried.

Storm just nickered softly and turned his head around to nuzzle the side of her head, ears pricked forward, as Chris leaned on the stall door and watched.

He stood by his decision . . . it had been worth it.

Ten years was all he had now, to live his life to the fullest.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: 'Kay. Re-started this chapter fifteen times, I kid you not. In the end I had to go with the barest gory detail because I just couldn't do it. Too graphic, too heartbreaking, and I couldn't even keep my hands steady on the flippin' keyboard. Up next is some more Dean, providing I have seperated my chapters correctly...

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
>:D<strong>


	21. Wrath and the Devil Horse

**A/N: **Just a short little drabble about horses (I know, you're rolling your eyes at me) but Donas and Wrath play a big part in Dean's horse experiences when he returns to Thunder Creek, and needed to be introduced. *shrug* Be happy, peeps, two chapters in one day.

**Disclaimer**: Own it all from this chapter, friends.

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-One<strong>  
>Wrath and the Devil-Horse<p>

**Thunder Creek, WY**  
>March 1996<p>

John stood outside the stall, watching the new three-month-old suckling his damn. The Appendix colt was dun, his mane a deep black with a black stripe down his back. He tapped his fingers against his chin.

"He's pretty, grandpa," Paige said from beside him, peering into the stall. "Even if he does try to kill everyone who comes near him, 'cept for you, I mean."

"Hmm," John agreed. The horse was going to give him some problems, that was for sure.

"I like the palomino Warmblood colt better," Paige admitted, skipping across the stall. "Good morning, Beauty," she greeted the dam, her father's tall, elegant Warmblood mare. Her coat shone white in the light of the barn. Beside her stood the palomino colt she'd taken quite a liking to, the first foal out of her father's prized palomino Warmblood stallion, Gold Rush.

"That one is a little devil," John said with a rich chuckle. "Though he seems to like you well enough."

"I was there when he was born," Paige shrugged, putting her hand down. "Have you named him yet?"

"I have. Donas."

Paige lifted inquisitive eyes to her grandfather, raising an eybrow. "Doesn't that mean _devil_?"

John grinned and shrugged. "I thought it was fitting at the time," he confessed with a rich chuckle. "Your grandmother named the little dun Heaven's Wrath."

She giggled at that, shaking her head. "What is it with our horse lines and devilish colts?"

He just grinned and ruffled his granddaughters blonde hair. "Must be a family tradition," he shrugged.

When he had left the barn, Paige was gently petting Donas' head. The colt was smart, and cunning, but when he was calm could be sweet as sugar. "I don't think you're a devil horse," she told him, as he flicked his ears back and forth. "Just headstrong and stubborn, like grandpa." She patted his neck. "I think you'll give him a run for his money when the time comes to ride you."

Donas snorted as if in agreement and went back to suckling from his damn.

Paige smiled at Beauty, who stuck her head over the stall door, looking for a treat. She gave her the last carrot from her pocket and smoothed her forehead, before walking out of the barn after her grandfather.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Yay! Foals are so damn cute… For those of you wondering, Donas is the horse Dean learns to ride on, or rather, _teaches _himself to ride on, much to the indignation of John. :D


	22. The Horde

**A/N: **Just some of the bonding between the kids . . . you'll note the boys are more protective of the girls as they get older.

**Disclaimer**: Only own the OCs.

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Two<strong>  
>The Horde<p>

**Thunder Creek, WY**  
>March 18, 1996<p>

Paige whistled as she walked down the hall, looking for her sibs, particularly Summer and Connie. At times like this she missed Ally greatly, but was content that her sister would be back from California over the summer and Christmas breaks. She was craning her neck, looking for their familiar forms, when an arm flashing out in front of her made her stop. Frowning, she looked up into the face of Quentin Phelps.

"Hey, sweetheart," he drawled, filthy lips curling into a smirk.

"What the hell do you want, Quentin?" snapped Paige, rolling her eyes heavenward.

"You." Malice entered his eyes as he crowded her. Before she had a chance to move, she was pinned between him and the lockers, his arms on either side of her shoulders fencing her in.

"Move, Quentin," she said, her tone bored. There were about a hundred different things she could do to him… but the alternative was much more fun.

"Your little lover boy isn't here, now is he?" Quentin sneered, pressing closer to her.

She moved as far away as she could, plastering herself up against the lockers as she smirked. "One thing you learn about big brothers," she said conversationally, never taking her eyes off Quentin's, "is that they have a sixth sense for stuff like this."

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked uncertain for the first time. "What do you―?"

Before he even had a chance to finish his sentence, a shadow fell over Quentin. Going suddenly very still, he turned his head ever-so-slightly to the left, hunting the source of the shadow.

Quentin suddenly found himself face-to-chest with six-foot-seven-inch senior class vice president and co-captain of the football team Noah D. Clayborne.

His knees nearly buckled from the realization he could very well die in the next ten seconds. Gulping, Quentin tipped his head backwards to meet the glacier-cold eyes of the famous quarterback. A cold smile twisted Noah's lips as he loomed over the much shorter junior.

"You like having your hands, Phelps?" said Noah with false cheerfulness.

Quentin slowly nodded.

Noah leaned forward, bending at the waist until his nose was nearly touching Quentin's. "Then I suggest you move them," he said softly, looking pointedly at his arms trapping Paige in place. "Now." His voice cracked like a whip. The boy was quick to drop them and scurry away, eyes wide as saucers.

Paige rolled her eyes at Noah's I'm-an-Alpha-male demonstration and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Like I said, Quentin," she sighed, studying her nails for a moment before glancing back up at the school bully, "_sixth sense_."

Smirking, Paige turned on her heel and walked down the hall, emerging outside, all the while aware of Noah's presence at her shoulder. He did not say a word, in fact, was fuming over how much he hated that kid and more importantly, clever ways to kill him.

Paige stopped when Noah's big hand gently gripped her elbow. "Baby cakes?" he said quietly, turning her around to face him. "You okay? I know how much you hate that kid. He just won't leave you the hell alone, and…"

She leaned into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. "I'm fine," she promised, face hidden in the fabric of his polo T-shirt. He smelled like fabric softener and grandma's cookies (he'd eaten about twenty of them before they came to school this morning). "Watching you deal with him is way more amusing than having to deal with him myself."

Noah chuckled and hugged her back. "Lucky Chris wasn't there," he said conversationally, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Knowing him, he would have―"

"―killed him," Paige finished for him, laughing. She pulled away, perched her hands on her hips, and mock glared up at him. "You guys are too damn protective, you know that?"

He did not look the least bit apologetic, in fact, he just grinned and shrugged. "Yeah? So?" he prompted, lips tilting into a smirk.

Paige rolled her eyes and huffed out a string of profanities that made his eyebrows inch up in appreciation. "You lot are a bad influence," she muttered, turning on her heel and stalking in the direction of the cafeteria. Not to her surprise at all, their schoolmates in the general vicinity were staring. "What the hell are you looking at?" she snapped as she passed by them, Noah a looming presence behind her.

Noah did that a lot. Looming, anyway. And glaring. Generally looked like he would smite anyone at the slightest provocation, too.

Most people averted their eyes.

"Where are we going?" Noah wondered.

"To lunch. God knows you lot have bottomless pits for stomachs." Paige threw an exasperated glance at Noah over her shoulder. "Grandma is _convinced _you boys have black holes in there somewhere. Honestly, I don't know where you put it all."

"It's the high metabolism," said Noah, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was whistling an irritatingly cheerful tune, smirking down at her as she got all riled up.

Paige snorted again, shaking her head. "Lucky bastards… I eat that much, it goes straight to my ass." She yelped when Noah smacked her there affectionately, chuckling over her enraged mortification.

"You have a nice ass," he deadpanned.

"Jesus, Noah, learn a little personal space," Paige grumbled, blushing slightly. "People are staring."

It was Noah's turn to roll his eyes. "So the hell what? Ignore them. Who gives a damn what they think." He grabbed her and swung her up in a practiced motion, and with an irritated huff, Paige landed on his back.

"Piggy-back ride? What am I, twelve?" sighed Paige, not fighting it. She rested one elbow on the top of his shoulder, perching her chin in her cupped palm, the other arm looped around his neck.

"Might as well be. You're lighter than my backpack."

"I weigh a hundred and sixty pounds. Unless you make a habit of carrying around bricks or somehow squeezing Katie in there too, I doubt your backpack weighs that much."

"Yeah, well. Indulge a big brother."

"You're not my big brother," she teased.

"I am, and you fucking know it," he fumed, turning to glare at her.

Paige's expression softened. She moved her arms so that they hugged around his shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze. "I was just bantering, Noah," she said gently.

Noah sighed, grumbling profanities under his breath before sighing. "I know," he admitted. "Ignore me."

She rested her cheek on his shoulder, studying his strong, handsome profile.

"What?" he demanded, not meeting her eyes. His gaze remained stubbornly forward.

"Nothing," Paige sighed, nestling her face in the side of his neck. His skin, as usual, was warm. It felt nice against her freezing skin―the wind chill was terrible today, not quite winter yet, but getting there. The air itself was frigid.

Noah jumped a little when her icy nose made contact with his neck. "Christ, you're freezing," he muttered, quickening his pace toward the cafeteria. Her eyes were closed, but she felt the irritated grumble rumble through his chest. "Bloody hell, move along, freshmen, come on. Oh, quit staring. MOVE. _**ALONG**_."

"Noah, don't terrify the poor things," she said without opening her eyes.

"Yeah, well, staring is rude," Noah replied with a huff. Paige's lips curled into a smile against his neck. "Jesus, kid, quit staring! Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's rude? Yes, you! Don't stand there looking like a baboon with your thumb up your ass!"

"Noah," Paige laughed, finally lifting her head to observe a group of four terrified freshman frozen in front of the cafeteria doors. She smiled at them. "Ignore him," she advised, beaming now, "he's just being a jerk."

The freshmen exchanged glances and scampered into the cafeteria, throwing wide-eyed glances over their shoulders at frequent intervals.

Paige shook her head and grinned. "What _is _it with you and terrifying half of this schools' population?"

Noah shrugged, tossing her slightly in the air. He apologized absently and ducked down to get them both underneath the doorway. "Its fun," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire world. He dropped her down to her feet, finally, and compensated for not carrying her by latching onto her arm and dragging her down between the rows of tables instead.

She huffed out an irritated breath as she was literally dragged in his wake, pulled in such a way she was nearly parallel to the ground, and the only thing form keeping her from falling on her face was Noah pulling her forward. A few friends waved at her as she was dragged past, and she offered up a smile and a short little wave before she was yanked by Noah further towards wherever it was he was leading her.

He shoved through people, using his height and width to his advantage. The fact of the matter was, however, that the majority of people saw him coming and got the hell out of his way long ahead of time. Noah was quite the intimidating figure on his own, same as Kyle and Elliot and Chris and Jared, but put them together and they were so far beyond terrifying there was no fit word in the English language to describe it adequately.

Finally, at the complete opposite end of the cafeteria, Noah halted. Paige slammed into his back and grunted from the impact, rebounding and promptly being yanked forward again by Noah. Before she even had a second to react, he flicked his wrist, and flying she went, landing solidly with considerable jarring in her brother's lap.

"Are you aware I can walk on my own?" she snapped at Noah, straightening her shirt with two irritated yanks as she muttered under her breath, glaring at the older boy as he sat down at the table across from them. Noah just shrugged and took a huge bite out of his apple. Paige grumbled something rude under her breath and turned to Chris, who was watching the interaction with considerable amusement. "Hey, Chris."

"Hey, baby girl," Chris replied, winking at her. "I see Noah's mission to find you was a success."

"Indeed," said Paige dryly, shooting Noah another glare―which he ignored―and greeting the rest of her sibs, who were at the table. She balled up a napkin and chucked it at Connie, sniggering when it bounced off the eighth grader's forehead. "Thanks for waiting, brat."

Connie stuck her tongue out at Paige, balled up the napkin tighter, and returned fire.

Paige blocked it with a lazy flick of her wrist and slid off Chris' seat to sit beside him, stealing his roll and a bite of vegetables. "How's everyone's day going?"

"It's fucking cold," Connie grumbled, glaring out the window at the sky. Snowflakes had started to fall, swirling in the icy wind. "I hate snow."

"You love water," Jared reminded her, taking a bite of his pizza.

"Yes, water," Connie agreed. "However, Knox, snow happens to be _frozen _water, meaning its goddamn cold and freezes my ass off."

"Oh, is that where your ass went?" he quipped, grinning as he dodged a green bean volley.

"Asshole."

"Such language…"

"Sue me, pretty boy."

"Why thank you, I try."

"You sure you aren't gay?" sniggered Connie.

Jared's expression was offended. "'M _not_," he insisted around a mouthful of pizza, swallowing quickly and nearly choking. "I like girls. Like, really, _really _like girls."

"Me thinks he doth protest too much," she mocked.

Paige and the rest of the table watched this battle of wits with great amusement. The two of them did this pretty much every day, without fail, mocking each other about everything they could possibly think of. It was hugely annoying yet hilarious at the same time. Thus far, only Paige, Noah, and upon occasion Cole were able to keep up with Connie's personality.

It had been planned long ago— before Constance and Paige were ten, in fact— that when they passed the trial and started hunting, Paige and Connie would be partners.

That, and, well, nobody really wanted to be Connie's partner. She was too high maintenance and had an irritating habit of vanishing at the most random times, usually leaving whoever she was with trapped in a sticky situation. Not on purpose, of course. She just for some reason could only focus on one thing at a time. And to put the icing on the proverbial I-don't-want-to-work-with-Connie cake, when she wasn't randomly disappearing without warning, she was setting stuff on fire. Working with her would be the death of any of the boys in the horde. They'd probably get an ulcer trying to keep her out of trouble.

Paige snapped out of her reverie and focused in on the conversation. Noah and Connie were engaged in an "I hate your guts go die" argument. Most of it was bravado of course, but the entire school was convinced they couldn't stand each other, where the summer group knew the truth: both were too stubborn and too proud to show how much they cared about each other. Connie was the exasperating little sister always sticking her nose into trouble, and Noah was the protectively overbearing big brother who drove her nuts.

"Are you always so stupid, or is today a special occasion, Constance?" Noah sniped, eyes narrowed. Paige had no idea what she'd missed, but it must be good, because the entire horde was enthralled, gazes bouncing back and forth with an amused twinkle in their eyes.

"I've come across decomposing bodies that are less offensive than you are, Clayborne," Constance volleyed back without batting an eyelash. Several of the guys snorted, and Noah's eyes narrowed to ice-blue slits.

Noah smirked. "It's hard to get the big picture when you have such a small screen."

"I'd like to see things from your point of view, Noah," said Connie sweetly, "but I can't seem to get my head that far up my ass."

"A sharp tongue is no indication of a keen mind, Constance," said Noah flatly.

"I've seen a bigger sack on a teacup Chihuahua," said Connie, challenge in her eyes.

Noah's smirk didn't fade. "Keep talking, Brennan. Someday, you'll say something intelligent."

Connie's eyes narrowed, now. "After meeting you, I've decided I'm in favor of abortion in cases of incest."

"If ignorance is bliss, you must be the happiest person alive," Noah retorted.

"Anyone who told you to be yourself couldn't have given worse advice."

He leaned forward, palms flat on the table. "Let's play horse, Brennan. I'll be the front, and you be yourself."

"Oho," Connie snorted. "A half-wit gave you a piece of his mind…and you held onto it."

"Can I borrow your face for a few days while my ass is on vacation?"

"Why you―" Constance spluttered in indignation.

Noah opened his mouth to say something else, but the principal came over. Their voices had been rising steadily in volume as the argument progressed—as tended to happen with two stubborn, proud people determined to win—and the members of what looked to be a tour appeared horrified by the loud conversation.

"Mr. Clayborne!" she gasped, eyes wide in shock. "And you too, Ms. Brennan! How _dare _you carry on so in a public cafeteria! As Vice President of the student body and co-captain of the football team, Mr. Clayborne, I expect better of you!" She turned a glare on Chris, who just stared back at her. "And that goes for you, too, Mr. Newbern! You should know better than to let them carry on like this!"

Connie and Noah exchanged a glance before looking back up at Ms. Rollins as Chris spluttered, astonished at being included in this punishment.

"Ms. Rollins—" Noah began.

"Can it, Mr. Clayborne," Ms. Rawlings cut them off, shooting them a rather impressive albeit far from intimidating glare. "On your feet, all three of you. Go sit in my office. We'll be having a little _chat _when I'm done with my tour."

Grumbling, Chris, Noah, and Connie got to their feet, said goodbye to their siblings, and headed to Ms. Rawlings' office.

"Hello, Georgia," they greeted her secretary in unison, tones dull.

Georgia Schimidt looked up from her desk, one eyebrow raised. "What did you do this time?" she wondered with a grin.

"Oh, the usual," Connie sighed dramatically, sprawling down onto the couch. "General mischief and sparring."

"At least it was without swords this time," Chris said with a chuckle. "I wish I'd gotten a picture of her face when she found Cole and Connie sparring in the gym. Priceless."

"You young rascals," Georgia laughed. "Giving your poor principal heart attacks!"

"Its fun," Noah grinned, turning on the charm.

Georgia rolled her eyes, pursing her lips together to hold back a smile. "Oh, heavens," she scolded, but her heart wasn't in it. She held up a crystal jar. "Would you like some candy?"

Noah winked at her. "See guys? I _told _you Miss Georgia was on our side!"

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><p><strong>EN**: I just love the relationships between all of them! So much fun!

**REVIEWS=LOVE**  
><strong>:D<strong>  
><strong>(and faster updates...click it, you know you wanna...Dean appears faster the more reviews I get!)<strong>


	23. A Call to Duty : A Dream Fulfilled

**A/N: **Posted FTGF a couple days ago, now back into MTAF. Lots of stuff to wrap up...I've planned it all out, figure I've got about twelve or so chapters left. Enjoy! Faster you review, faster Dean appears...next chappie is Dean centric!

Lovies to all who read, revicw, favorite, etc. You rock!

**Disclaimer**: I own only my OCs.

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Three<strong>  
>A Call to Duty, a Dream Fulfilled<p>

**Thunder Creek, WY  
><strong>May 1996

Paige smiled apologetically as she moved down the row of people, back to her seat between Connie and Jared. Today was the big day, and she could scarcely believe that it had happened so quickly! Her brothers were graduating high school. It seemed like only yesterday they'd been _starting_ with high school.

Debbie was having troubles with three-year-old Lilly, and her father was keeping four-year-old Gunner firmly his lap. Paige reached over to take one-year-old Garrett, and her stepmother smiled gratefully. She grinned down at the tow-headed tot, marveling at his bright blue eyes and tickling him to make him giggle.

The graduating class was just under two hundred students (Thunder Creek was a small town), and before she knew it, Class President Chris Newbern was addressing the crowd with his graduation speech.

She clapped dutifully when he finished, even though she'd missed most of it keeping Garrett in her lap. He was squirmy today, but behaving for the most part, especially since she was quietly reading him books, allowing him to point at all the pictures. It was a study in multi-tasking that she was able to entertain the one-year-old, take pictures one-handed, and listen to the speech all at the same time.

Cheers rose to near-deafening when Noah Clayborne was called, the school Principal Ms. Rawlings taking a moment to congratulate him on his accomplishments.

"Young Noah has been a pillar of strength and honor in our school since kindergarten, encouraging the students to treat others as they should be treating and making a point of defending those who could not defend themselves. His success shows, as his accomplishments are many, including Vice President of the Student Council, co-captain of the Football, Baseball, Swimming, and Rodeo teams, as well as our star Quarterback and baseball pitcher," Ms. Rawlings said into the microphone, shaking his hand. "Noah, it has been a pleasure to know you and the rest of the Horde, and while you have often tested my patience, you have proved yourself to be a good student and pupil, and I have no doubts you will be a great man and wonderful soldier."

Noah grinned, flushing slightly at her praise, and gave her a bear hug in front of everyone, several laughs erupting, including the Horde. He had his diploma in his hand and Ms. Rawlings in a laughing bear hug when the picture was taken. He released her, waved, and trotted down the steps to sit with everyone the rest of his graduating class.

Paige laughed when she saw Elliot and Chris exchange looks on stage and roll their eyes.

"Oh, brother," Ally sighed from her other side. "Here, I'll take him, you take pictures," she suggested, scooping Garrett up in her arms before Paige could protest.

Ms. Rollins addressed both Christopher and Elliot about the horde as well; it was so well-known throughout the town, having been present since the kids were knee-high to a grasshopper. Their lists of achievements were about a mile long, too. Chris' included President of the Student Body, co-captain of the football team, co-captain of the rodeo team (roping, his partner being Noah), co-captain of the baseball team, captain of the equestrian team, captain of the swimming team . . . as well as the school's star running back.

Elliot was the same, except for the swimming.

All three announced their intent to join the military and gave Ms. Rollins bear hugs in lieu of the usual handshake. Paige's camera was clicking away like mad, getting snapshots of her brothers in the school's navy blue and white graduation robes, a snapshot of them switching their tassels to the opposite side, and the throwing of their graduation caps into the air.

Debbie was crying with happiness and Brad was as proud as a peacock, his chest puffing out as the graduates were dismissed and allowed to mingle with their families. Debbie took the camera as the girls were pulled into crushing bear hugs; clapping their brothers on the back, and being embraced by their numerous sets of parents.

At Ms. Rollins request the horde gathered with her in the center, Noah directly behind her with Chris to her left and Elliot to her right; spanned around them and in front of the boys was the rest of the horde, Ally and Jeremy included. Three shots were taken, and back to mingling went the crowd.

The horde was beaming with pride at the three eldest members of their group, and for that one moment, everything was perfect.

* * *

><p><strong>August 3, 1996<strong>

Ally was beyond freaking out. This, this moment, was the moment she'd been dreading for days.

Noah, Chris, and Elliot were deploying, and would be gone for an upwards of six months. Her heart was pounding unevenly as she imagined just _what _could happen to them over there―and the very real possibility that she could never see them again except to bury them. _Don't think about it_, she reminded herself. That, however, didn't work too well. In fact, it really only made her feel worse.

She was standing in the barn, in front of Wrath's stall, well out of the horse's reach. For once, he wasn't trying to eat her face or her arm or her clothes. In fact, his elegant ears were pricked forward in her direction, almost concerned. She couldn't really tell; if there was such thing as a bipolar horse, this was one.

Tears trickled out of the corner of her eyes. It was hours before they were leaving, but all the same, she couldn't speak past the lump in her throat.

"Al?"

Normally, Ally would have jumped out of her skin at the sudden deep baritone right behind her, but this time, she'd expected it. He'd come to find her.

He _always_ came to find her.

Ally turned and threw her arms around Noah's waist, burying her face in his shoulder. He was warm, even through the thick fabric of his sand-colored T-shirt. He made a little surprised noise in the back of his throat before wrapping his arms tightly around her and pulling her against his body. She was safe here, she _always _felt safe here. But then, who wouldn't? He was _Noah_. He'd been taking care of them, protecting them, since they were little tiny kids.

"Don't go," she pleaded, not looking at him, as tears started to truly flow.

"I have to," said Noah with absolute certainty. His voice rumbled through his chest under her ear.

"No, you don't," she protested, leaning her head back to meet his gaze. As soon as he saw her tears, guilt flashed across his expression.

"Oh, Ally," he sighed, reaching up to cup her face in his hand, a hand so big it spanned from her forehead to her chin. His thumb gently brushed her cheek, wiping away her tears. "Don't cry. It's not something to cry about. I'll be back before you know I was gone."

"I'll miss you tomorrow," she countered, closing her eyes. "I'll miss you every minute of _every _day."

What she felt for him, it was more than just a crush. She thought maybe she'd loved him for years, and just hadn't known it. Her mother always said at fifteen she didn't know what love was, but now… now, she wasn't so sure. So, before she could chicken out, she threw her arms around his neck and crushed her lips to his.

Noah froze in shock, making another surprised noise in the back of his throat. She pulled back before he even had a chance to react, more tears in her eyes. She'd expected him to do… something, not just stand there, as humiliation ripped through her. He was staring at her like… well, she wasn't quite sure what, but he was staring at her.

"What the hell was that?" he wondered, voice hoarse. Probably from the shock. To say the least, she'd shocked the hell out of him.

"A kiss," Ally whispered, pulling her arms away and stepping back.

"No, it wasn't," he replied, reaching out to circle an arm around her waist. "This is." He threaded his fingers through her hair, tipped her head back, and kissed her, _really _kissed her. Noah made another noise in the back of his throat, but she wasn't thinking enough to place it.

Noah, on the other hand, was kissing her like there was no tomorrow. He might die, probably would get shot at one point or another, so he was doing this while he still had the chance. Her lips were soft and tasted like her strawberry chap stick. And then his morals kicked in. He was standing in a barn making out with a fifteen year old – she was almost four years younger than him.

Holy freaking crap, Noah Clayborne knew how to kiss. All thoughts flew right out of Ally's head, the last being a random snipped of, _I wonder what he would say if I told him this is my first kiss._

He pulled back so suddenly that all she did was stare. The hand still threaded in her hair relaxed, smoothed down the hair he'd messed up. Before he could even open his mouth to say a word, she turned and fled the barn, leaving him standing there beside Wrath's stall.

Allyson was fifteen. He was nineteen. He _should _feel like a child molester or something, but instead, he felt strangely…content. It was strange. He could still feel her lips, sweet and soft, the warmth of her body pressed against every inch of his, the tingle in his scalp from where she'd raked it with her nails. He'd wanted to kiss her since he was old enough to know what kissing was.

"I love you, Allyson Baraldi," he whispered, closing his eyes as the truth washed over him. Now, all he had to do was survive a few deployments… and maybe something could happen.

For now, however, he had to survive Iraq. Hopefully, without a bullet wound.

Sighing, he smoothed the wrinkles out of his uniform and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, heading up to the house to say the final goodbyes.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Everyone was gathered at the bus station to bid them farewell, Noah and Chris with their duffel bags at their feet as Elliot came to join them. Brad had already cut their hair to military regulations, their numerous relatives giving last-minute hugs.

"Good luck," Paige said tearfully as she embraced her brothers.

"We'll be fine," Noah assured the group as a whole, pulling Ally into a final hug and trying not to laugh at how bright red her face got. "Ally? Will you write me?"

"Sure," Ally whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Good luck to you two in nationals," Chris said, smiling at Ally and Paige. "Take care of Admiral for me."

"We will," Paige promised, putting her arm around Ally's shoulders.

"We're proud of you boys," Brad said through a tight throat. "We'll see you at your graduation. Good luck in boot camp."

"Thanks," the three young men said, fighting back their own tight throats as they got in the busses. They waved, and the huge group of people waved back.

"Your whole town came to say goodbye or something?" a guy in front of Noah asked.

"Something like that," Noah responded, sharing a grin with Elliot and Chris as the bus lurched forward and their family started to get smaller and smaller. His throat tight, he settled down in the bus and realized this was the first time he'd ever really been away from home.

* * *

><p><strong>September 1996<strong>

Paige's heart pounded unevenly as she watched the riders ahead of her going around the jumping course. This three day event had been stressful as hell, and now it was the last day, the showjumping day. Her _favorite _day, and Storm's, too. This was the defining moment…she would qualify for nationals off of the A circuit or not depending on whether or not Storm won this event. And if she qualified for the National team, she could go for the Olympics. It was hard to believe she'd started out as a nobody, and now, people were snapping pictures of her and Storm for every horse magazine in the English-speaking world.

Storm shifted, ears flicking back and forth, and she immediately loosened her reins and smoothed her hand down his powerful neck, murmuring softly under her breath. "Easy, boy," she whispered. "It's not our time yet."

"You'll do great," Brad said from her knee, reaching out to pat the gelding's neck. He hadn't realized what a fantastic investment Storm would be, but had realized it was worth the money he'd paid. His daughter had gotten a best friend and become a champion, all in one go.

"I know, dad. There's a lot resting on this round."

"Don't think about it," he ordered. "Think of the course, think of Storm. Focus."

"I know, daddy."

Brad smiled up at her when her name was called. "Do us proud, honey," he told her, grabbing the horse's bridle to look Storm in the eye. "Knock 'em dead, Storm," he told the gelding, who pricked his ears forward and nudged his shoulder.

She took a deep breath and gathered her reins, situating her feet in the stirrups and squeezing her legs gently. Storm broke into a trot, halting on a dime beside the ring steward, who checked to make sure Paige's armband was there along with her medical information.

"Good luck," the steward said with a smile, stepping aside. "You know the drill."

"I do," she smiled, ignoring everything after that: the crowd, the clicking cameras, the men around the arena getting action shots for sports magazines and whatnot. It was only her and Storm and the field of fences they had to clear without dropping a pole.

Her heart beat in tempo with Storm's hooves as she cantered him in a wide circle before cinching down on her nerves and pointing him at the first fence. The crowd had quieted to a murmur, watching the great dapple gray giant as he attacked the course.

Fence after fence flew by underneath them, her head on a swivel, body moving seamlessly in synch with the horse. They turned around an oxer to face a Liverpool, Storm picking up speed as she pulled his head up, and up and over the jump they flew. She didn't have time to see if his feet had disrupted the chalk line, pushing onward over a triple combination.

Storm tapped the last pole of the combination and stumbled a bit on the landing, but steadied himself with a snort, throwing his head up and leaping over the next jump, Paige balanced precariously over his withers. When he was landed she was pitched forward but quickly regained her balance, turning him towards the next combination, hands halfway up his neck, head already turned to the next jump.

The crowd oohed and awed when he stumbled, cheering when he regained his footing and cleared the next fence. He was a crowd favorite, as many people had been introduced to the big gelding and his friendly rider, allowed to pet him and ask her questions about their careers, unlike many of the other elite riders.

The final three jumps faced the young team, Storm surging forward. His powerful hindquarters bunched, launching up and over the fence. He turned and cleared the next, and with a final burst of speed and power, soared over the final fence, the widest of the course, his body stretched out to clear it. He landed to a cheer that erupted from the crowd.

Paige looked up at the scoreboard and let out a whoop, clapping her gelding on the neck as they cantered a circle, grinning widely. He'd gone a clean round and landed in first by one and a half seconds. There were still three horses left to go, but she could hope.

She trotted out of the arena and dismounted, throwing her arms around her gelding's neck, kissing him loudly on his jawbone.

"Good boy," she crooned, hands stroking over his face and neck. She stood before him and patted his neck, grinning as her dad came forward.

"Great job, honey," Brad beamed, sweeping her up into a tight hug. "Atta boy, Storm." He reached to rub the gelding's muzzle, the horse merely snorting.

It was a tense few moments as the last three horses went. Her heart was in her throat as the last horse was halfway through, Whitney Grayson and her mare Magic. She was clear so far, and going faster than Storm.

"Come on, Whitney, get cocky," Paige muttered, fingers tightening on Storm's reins, walking her gelding in circles while still keeping an eye on the course. "Push her faster, come on."

As per usual, Whitney realized she was winning and started getting more daring. She pushed Magic faster than she should, faster than was safe. The mare's breathing was labored but she did as she was asked, flying over the course. They faced the water, and Paige stopped to watch.

Magic faltered two strides before the water jump, taking off early. Her left rear leg plunked into the water and the crowd groaned.

Paige grinned, but restrained herself from whooping aloud with joy. Whitney _always _got cocky, and thank god for that! She'd just handed her the national team spot on a silver platter all because she was too confident.

And, sure enough, at the end of the round the announcers called out her time – four faults. She had gotten third.

A cheer rose from the crowd, and Paige was astonished to see what appeared to be all of Thunder Creek, all on their feet cheering their hearts out, stomping and yelling and making a general ruckus.

Her dad gave her a leg up. It felt like being in a dream, cantering back into the arena to her place beside the second-place winner, Mick O'Connell and his mare Mystic. The Irishman grinned at her.

"Made nationals, eh?"

Paige just grinned back and leaned forward to rub Storm's ears. "Such a good, brave boy," she praised him as the judges came up.

"A good, clear round, Ms. Newbern," the man beside the judge praised. He was tall, with curly dark hair, devilish hazel eyes, and a charming smile. She'd know that face anywhere, she'd followed his career almost religiously. Her mouth dropped open in shock―it was Henry Anderson, captain of the Olympic team! He took the ribbon from the smiling judge and tied it to Storm's bridle, looking the gelding in the eye. "This is quite a fellow you've got, here," he told her, pushing a hand through his curly brown hair.

"Thank you," she said sincerely as he reached up to shake her hand. "It's an honor to meet you."

"I hope to see you on the team soon," Henry said with an easy, charming grin, not releasing her hand. "You have a real talent. Ever thought of getting a better horse?"

She almost yanked her hand out of his, but smiled slightly down at him. "I wouldn't trade Storm for anything," she told him firmly. "We're a package deal."

"And a talented package deal at that," he chuckled, finally releasing her hand. "I'll be cheering for you at nationals. Good luck."

"Thank you."

The judge stepped up to shake her hand as well―Andy Pierson, the same judge who had been with her since she was a kid.

"Congrats, kiddo, you've earned it," he laughed. "And the attention of the Olympic team as well!"

Paige grinned back and squeezed his hand warmly. "Thanks, Andy, it's good to see you."

Andy leaned closer and whispered conspirtorally, "Better than watching that cocky little brat win!"

Mick heard and snorted loudly, lifting a hand to cover his mouth and keep his guffaw of laughter in. beside him, Whitney Grayson had her nose in the air and was ignoring both of them, her hold on the reins so tight Magic's ears were pinned to her head as she danced sideways before being viciously checked.

She watched as Mick and Whitney got their ribbons as well, smiling slightly to herself. When they got the signal, the winners cantered their victory laps, waving at the crowd.

Paige was ecstatic – she'd qualified for nationals, and had a shot at the Olympic team. The only way this day would be better was if Chris, Noah, and Elliot were there with her.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Storm was cross tied in the barn as Paige rubbed him down, dressed in sweats over her breeches and barn shoes, scrubbing him until he gleamed. Crowds of people came to the barn to congratulate her and visit the charismatic gelding, a favorite with the little kids whose parents came to every show.

Paige smiled and welcomed everyone, let them pet her gelding and speak soft words to him, give him treats and scratches. Storm loved the attention.

"We'll see you at the next show?" one of the women asked.

"Of course," Paige grinned, unhooking the cross ties from his name-engraved leather halter. She spread the travel blanket and clasped it around his neck and legs. "We'll be there, kicking butt and taking names as always."

They wished her good luck and she thanked them as she wrapped her gelding's legs and led him to their trailer, smiling at the crowd of Thunder Creek natives who cheered for them as they made the "victory march" to the trailer. She rolled her eyes at them but laughed anyway.

Finally, they were loaded and ready to go, with the ribbon on the dash.

She was already thinking ahead, to nationals – and qualifying for the Olympic team.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: NEXT CHAPTER IS DEAN! ;P

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
>:D<strong>


	24. John's Confused and Dean Is Cranky

**A/N: **Hey guys, posting again. Shocker, right?

Okay, so, since people seem to be a bit confused on some stuff, I will address it here.

Paige is related to quite a few of these characters. Her grandparents are John and Mary Newbern, referred to by the horde as "Grandpapa" and "Grandma". John and Mary have one son, Brad, who is Paige's father. Her parents are Brad Newbern and Wendy Knox and her siblings are Chris and Claire Jillian, who goes by Jillian. Her parents get a divorce when she is nine, and Brad re-marries Deborah White, and together they have her half-siblings Gunner, Lilly, and Garrett; Debbie also has two children from a previous marriage, Travis and Carrie. So, in total, Paige has seven siblings.

Now, Wendy's maiden name is Knox. Her parents are Sharon and Larry but that's never mentioned; Larry has a brother named Leroy who has a son, Peter. Peter Knox is therefore Wendy's first cousin, and also father to the Knox boys. So, the Knox boys are Paige's second cousins. To those of you who have forgotten, that includes Theo, Elliot, Jacob, Michael David (not to be confused with Michael Brent), and Jared. Only Elliot and Jared are mentioned in MTAF as their older brothers are not around, and also play big roles in _Miles Apart _and _Fight the Good Fight_. Theo, Jacob, and Michael David appear briefly in _Miles Apart_ and will eventually return in FTGF if all goes as planned.

Nobody else is related to Paige, Chris, or Jillian. Kyle & Summer Harris, Noah & Cole Clayborne, Ally & Jeremy Baraldi, and Connie & Katie Brennan are family friends **ONLY**, though they consider themselves family because they all grew up together. There is no shared blood between any of them, the only link being that the fathers of all the children mentioned above have been friends since _their_ childhoods.

I hope that helped clear it up for those of you who remain confused . . . if you are still confused, feel free to PM me and I will do my best to explain it to you.

Cheers!

**Disclaimer**: Only own the OCs.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Four<strong>  
>John's Confused and Dean is Cranky<p>

**Louisiana**  
>1997<p>

Smoke, sweat, and beer were the prominent smells as Dean and John entered the bar in little middle-of-nowhere Louisiana, Bobby Singer a half step behind them. The trio paused just over the threshold, allowing their eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room, taking in the gloomy interior, the dark furnishings, the clicking of the fans overhead.

John glanced sideways at his son. Dean's vividly green eyes―he ignored the stab of pain; those were his Mary's eyes―were raking across the bar, scanning first the men for threat assessment, and then the women, a glint entering his eyes at the sight of a few of them. Dean had grown to about 6'2" and had muscled out considerably in comparison to his teenage self. He was well sought after of the female population.

"Sid," Bobby called to a dark-haired, scruffy man behind the bar. The three men moved forward into the bar, Bobby and John engaging him in conversation.

Letting Bobby take the reins, seeing as he was in the Conclave and John was not and this _was _technically official Brotherhood business, John listened to them with half his attention and gave the other half to watching his son flatter half the women in the establishment in less than two minutes.

As he studied each woman in turn, however, he found something _interesting _about his son's behavior. Blondes, no matter how leggy or beautiful, he avoided like the plague. Each was passed over by his son, and the most curious thing?

Dean didn't seem to realize he was doing it.

Curious.

"What do you say, John?"

"Sounds good to me," he said promptly, turning his full attention back to the two men, having not a clue what he'd just agreed to. Sid and Bobby dropped back into conversation, and he turned half his attention back to his son, who had made it most of the way around the bar, seeming to have settled for a leggy brunette with a flashy smile. Sighing, he turned his attention then to the men in the bar, recognizing several faces from the Trial class he'd graduated two decades ago. A Brotherhood bar, then; he'd suspected as much.

The TV in the corner was flipping through channels; Sid was clearly looking for something. Oh. Bobby had turned to talk to someone else; Rufus, it looked like.

"There it is Sid!" someone called. He knew that voice, turning to see Bruce Clayborne in one of the booths. "Turn it up!"

Sid obliged, the bar quieting somewhat as a cantering horse filled the screen. John leaned forward to better see the screen, reading LEXINGTON THREE DAY EVENT.

"_This show is one of the biggest and the most important," _the first announcer voice was saying.

"_Agreed, Jim, and a pivotal moment for the young American national team," _the second voice said.

"Paige gone yet?" Bruce called to Sid.

"Nah, three more riders to go," Sid called back as the bay horse started the showjumping course.

/\\/\\

Dean's head snapped up at that name, eyes zeroing in on the TV screen. He seemed to forget all about the brunette next to him. John noted that with interest. Paige who, John wondered, and how in the world did she get him to act that way? The only relationship he'd been able to Heimlich out of the boy was Cassie, and at that, only her name before he clammed up and refused to say another word.

Showjumping. It wasn't so long that Dean had forgotten the rules, watched with interest as he bay horse tapped a rail on the last jump and knocked it down.

"_Oh, and that's one down for Michael O'Connell and Mystic of Ireland," _the announcer said.

The next two riders―an English rider named Paul Hayward and a Danish rider whose name he didn't catch―tapped the last fence as well, though only the Danish rider dropped the pole. And then…

"_The American National team's youngest rider, Paige Newbern aboard her prized Dutch Warmblood gelding…_"

Dean couldn't have told anyone what the announcer's next words were if his life depended on it. He was afraid to blink as the camera panned right to fix on a huge dapple gray gelding entering the arena.

"Storm," he breathed, and the woman next to him gave him an odd look, as he'd said it in sync with the announcer.

The cheers of men in the bar were muffled to his ears; his heart was beating so hard the rush of blood made it difficult to hear clearly. She looked the same; older, yeah, those blue eyes alive with that fire of determination he'd come to know well even in only a few short days. The course was eighteen jumps, each of them at or above four and a half feet, some nearing five and a half.

Storm flicked his ears partway back and moved into a smooth canter, as she turned him towards the first fence and the timer started. He flew over the jumps with ease, several inches between the bar and his neatly tucked hooves, never faltering, never doubting the judgment of his rider. Jump after jump the big horse cleared with ease, with inhuman grace, some of the jumps so tall Paige was standing in her stirrups on the landings.

Many of the men who knew her, Dean included, held their breaths as Storm pivoted and faced the last jump. One stride, two strides, three strides . . . powerful hindquarters gathering, launching upward, knees pulling up, hooves tucked against his belly, Paige leaning forward and off her saddle, hands halfway up Storm's neck, precariously balancing over his withers . . . his body stretching over the wide jump, legs extending downward, hind legs stretched back and tucked up, clearing the top pole with two inches to spare.

"_That's a clean round for Paige Newbern and Summer Storm, I repeat a clean round, with a time of 45.52 seconds! That'll put her in second place!"_

On the screen, Paige had pumped her fist in the air, grinning ecstatically as she saw the scoreboard. She clapped Storm on the neck, waved to the crowd, and slowed Storm to a trot as they left the arena. Another camera followed them out, Paige grinning and waving at the screen as her dad grabbed Storm's reins and led them away at a walk, the horse blowing but his ears pricked forward as if he sensed his victory.

A huge blonde guy let out a whoop and jumped up from his table, high-fiving three guys in the immediate vicinity.

Dean swallowed convulsively. Seeing her again had upset him, only he didn't know why.

/\\/\\

John watched the door swing shut behind his son, and wondered about it. Newbern's daughter was apparently a champion horseback rider―news to him―and had just qualified for the Olympics based on what some people in the bar were saying.

He and Bobby said their goodbyes and left the bar, but from that night on, Dean's aversion of blondes was even more pronounced.

/\\/\\

"Dean, I have something to ask you," said John, putting a hand on his son's shoulders a few weeks after what had been dubbed The Incident of 1997 (Dean had been acting like a bear being poked with a stick since he'd seen that girl on the TV).

"What?"

"Why do you avoid blondes?"

Dean abruptly pulled his gaze from the brunette he'd been checking out to look at his father, surprise in his eyes. That was new to John. These days, the boy was so good at guarding his expressions that even _he _didn't have a clue what Dean was thinking most of the time; and when he could guess what he was feeling, he wondered if it was what Dean was _really _feeling or if it was Dean wanted him to _think _he was feeling.

Blue eyes danced in his memory, mocking him; the memory of soft skin against his, the horrible sound of gut-wrenching sobs.

_He felt sick, remembering what the woman had said to her earlier, after her victory in that show . . . he'd always wanted his mother back, but did not envy her the pain she must be feeling. What kind of woman said that to her own child, her own flesh and blood?_

_A witch, Christopher had said, a poisonous bitch. Dean couldn't agree more._

"_Shh," he soothed, wrapping his arms tightly around her as Paige lost control of her emotions and collapsed against him, hugging him as tightly as she could as sobs tore unbidden from her shaking frame. He tilted his head until his lips rested against the top curve of her ear, rocking them gently from side to side as she sobbed still harder into his chest, clinging to his shirt with surprising strength._

_For an immeasurable amount of time they stood like that. He lifted a hand and stroked it down her hair, silky strands sliding between his fingers. And still, she sobbed; he doubted she'd be done crying for a while. She bottled things up almost as tightly as he did, and that was saying something, especially considering here they were with her crying all over a virtual stranger._

"_Shh," he murmured, rubbing his cheek along hers, making vague comforting sounds in the back of his throat._

_The stable was quiet, the scents of hay and horse surrounding them, those in themselves strangely comforting. Horses snorted softly and rustled around their bedding, while Storm nuzzled Paige's shoulder every so often, the giant animal conveying concern more than he'd ever seen a horse be concerned. It was a peaceful setting, even as his heart ached for the pain she was going through._

_Her sobs were quieting, but the grip on his shirt didn't lessen. The skin of the left side of his neck was wet from her tears, and from his collarbone down the shirt was damp. When she let go, she let go with a vengeance, he'd come to observe._

_Finally, finally, she quieted, sniffing every so often, sagging against him as if the strength had left her limbs. He didn't mind, just rested his back against the stall wall, stroking his hand down her hair, a mindless motion, tucking her securely into his embrace. Some part of him could sense that this was a bit of a blow to her pride; so, he took the hard road out for him, but the easy road out for her._

"_So, is this a truce then?" he said, entering a teasing lilt into the tone, putting the smirk firmly in place. The last thing she needed was to see his own anguish, or the building feelings he was desperately trying to hide from her and himself._

_Paige pulled back and out of his arms, almost hesitantly__―hesitance __felt on his end as well, as he was reluctant to let her go. She looked up at him, and the whirling anguish, anger, and pain in her eyes made his heart ache even more. Her smile was flat and lifeless, and made him want to pull her back into his arms and squeeze her tightly against him, to take some of her anguish onto himself, to help her bear this burden._

_The strength of his reaction terrified him._

_Never in his life had he felt this strongly about another human being__―__not even Sam, who he felt for in a different way, but these feelings were far deeper, more . . . he couldn't think of an adequate word._

_He forced himself to walk away, ignoring the wet tears still trickling down his chest and tickling his flesh. This much he could give her, and was determined to do so; he could not, however, resist the temptation to look back into the stall, ready to go right back in if she needed him._

_The delicate façade she had perfected was being cemented back into place, he watched her do it step by step, so very similar to the way he hid his own feelings. She was putting her mask back firmly in place, recalling the strength of will and confidence that had amazed him from the first second he met her._

"_Until tomorrow," she said, finally, with a shrug and weak attempt at a half smile._

_Dean almost smiled and restrained himself, not voicing the comment he'd wanted to, because he had no right to say 'that's my girl' to someone he barely knew and had no right to speak to in such a way. Her haunted blue eyes tore from his troubled green ones, her hands stroking her gelding's soft neck._

_The old Paige was back, all traces of vulnerability gone . . . but he had seen the softer vulnerable side of her, and it would stick in his mind for a lifetime. He shook his head, wishing he understood the way her mind processed, and headed out of the barn, but not before turning for one last look of horse and rider._

_It calmed him somewhat to see her leaning her forehead against her horse's massive jawbone, to hear her soft voice._

"_Oh, Storm," Paige breathed, choking on his name, "we have to win even more now, just to show that bitch what we can do! But not if it hurts you. I would never hurt you. I love you too much."_

_He quickened his step, deciding he didn't have a right to hear her confessing her feelings to a horse, no matter how much he wished it were him._

_Three things needed to happen: he needed to get his head on straight, he needed to get the hell away from this girl before he became _really _attached, and he really, really needed to put his fist through Wendy Knox's face._

_None of which, he realized, would make him feel that much better . . ._

"Dean?" John pressed, concerned. His son had zoned out for nearly two minutes.

"No reason," Dean shrugged, turning away from his dad and continuing into the bar, even as his mind screamed _because they remind me of the one person I want but can't have!_

He viciously cut off that thought, because no, he _didn't _want that blonde, it was impossible and it would never happen and there was _no point _agonizing over it―

His mind, however, could protest all it wanted, could rationalize . . . but his heart already knew what he wanted, as surely as his mind knew he could never have it.

/\/\\\

John entered quietly into the motel room he shared with his sons, and was surprised that Dean didn't shift, a mark of how distracted he was. Usually he was aware of all surroundings, but tonight, something was bothering him. Sam was already asleep, and Dean was sitting at the small table, his back to the door and John, more proof of just _how _distracted his son really was.

From this angle, he could see that his son was holding something in his left hand, but it was obscured by the rest of his body. Curiosity overcame him as he moved to see what it was. Would it explain his son's strange behavior earlier?

He walked up behind his son, boots making no noise on the carpet, to peer over his shoulder at whatever his son was studying with such intent.

It was a picture of a pretty young blond girl astride a giant gray horse with her arms thrown in the air and hands tightly fisted; a heartbeat later he realized why the horse and girl looked so familiar, it was the same team they'd seen on the TV a few weeks ago. Open joy on her face made her seem so alive that it almost hurt his eyes to look at her.

"I dream about her," said Dean, and John knew instantly his son had been aware of his presence all along. His voice was flat, almost dead, and with a pang John realized his son sounded as he himself often sounded. "I was young. Five or so, I think, maybe six. It was her I saw in that hospital room, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," John said slowly, not comprehending where this was going.

Before he could say another word, he was left staring after Dean's broad back, the door slamming shut behind him.

"Teenagers," he muttered, shaking his head.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Haha, having a blast with this . . . pooooor Dean . . . getting ever closer to their reunion!

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
>:D<strong>


	25. A Blur of Years

**A/N: **This one covers 1998-1999 from many of the Horde's perspectives. Don't feel I need to go too much in depth, they're basically just drabbles on what has happened, and helps to tie in the timeline to the events of _Miles Apart _and _Fight the Good Fight_.

Disclaimer: I own everything except for the Kripke characters. Oh, and I don't really own the title of this fic, either…it's a song by Boston…not sure if I've said that yet? O.o

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Five<br>**A Blur of Years

**1998**

Paige cantered Storm around the arena, her mind far away. She couldn't believe it was almost time for her to graduate already; after winning nationals, she'd spent a ton of time at horse shows but had still managed to pass all her classes. She chewed her lip as she moved Storm into a half-pass followed by a shoulder in, and after that an extended trot, moving in sync with him so much she didn't particularly need to concentrate.

So many things were happening…Jared was enlisting, just as Noah and Chris had. Her older brothers were happy in the Army, Chris now a pilot and him and Noah headed for Special Forces, if all continued to go well. Right after graduating, her and Jared would go the Trails, only four weeks this time around due to the small number of students and the fact all of their parents were hunters so they'd have no newbies.

"Head in the clouds?" Connie called from the fence.

"A bit," Paige called back, turning Storm towards her and slowing him to a walk. She halted beside her sister and puffed out a breath.

"You decided yet?" Connie wondered, fingering her chin.

"I don't know," she sighed, fiddling with Storm's mane. "I love horses and Thunder Creek and hunting, but…"

"…but the military is a family tradition," Connie finished for her, smiling.

"It is," Paige sighed. She squared her shoulders. "I'll talk to my dad tonight."

* * *

><p><strong>January 1999<strong>

"NEWBERN!"

Paige's head snapped up in alarm, fingers stilling on the keyboard. She jumped to her feet when Captain Edwards stormed into the room. "Sir," she barked, standing at attention.

"At ease," Edwards growled, shoving a file at her. "That new dumbass private just set my goddamn fucking hangar on fire!"

Paige's eyes widened. "Sir?" she said tentatively, taking the file.

"While _I _go rip the little bastard a new one, the General asked me to drop that off," Edwards muttered, storming back out of the room as suddenly as he'd entered.

She blinked and watched her door slam shut behind him so hard her picture frames rattled on the walls. A half second later, the Captain kicked it open again with a gruff apology and abruptly vanished again. A smile quirked her lips. Her fellow Blackhawk pilot―a friend off duty, but her commanding officer on duty―had a temper as violent as Mt. Vesuvius and reminded her of Noah.

"SIMMONS, IF YOU DAMAGED MY HANGAR I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD, YOU ARE A _DEAD _MAN!"

Yeah. Rory could yell pretty loud, too. Wincing in sympathy for the poor bastard who'd provoked him, she shook her head and opened the file, to find her brother's picture staring up at her. According to the paperwork he'd just made Special Forces. She beamed with pride―she knew Noah and Elliot had made it, too.

She shook her head in amusement and went back to her paperwork, making a point to write a reminder to call Chris and everyone home in TC as soon as possible. She'd been in the army for a year now, and a pilot for the majority of that, and loved every minute of it. Right before boot camp she'd passed the Trials, and had been put with Connie as a partner, but Connie was only just now a senior in high school at the age of seventeen and wouldn't be eligible for another year at least.

She could hear Rory bellowing at all the privates on base, mostly mechanics by the sound of it. She checked the time―0937―and hurried to finish her report before their training flight at 1000 hours.

"Ready, Newbern?"

Paige looked up at her tall companion. He looked rather unbothered for all the screaming and ranting he'd been doing for the past fifteen minutes. She turned off her computer as she did so. "Yes, sir," she said respectfully.

"Oh, come off it," Edwards sighed, shutting the door and dropping into the chair before her desk, palming his face. "I swear they get dumber with every class that graduates."

"Don't they all, Rory?" Paige agreed, handing him back her brother's file. He grunted in agreement and took the file from her, dropping it on his lap.

"Big thing, you know, making 160th SOAR," he commented, tapping the file with his index finger. "Only two in his class _did _make it. And I hear from a certain source that a Sergeant Clayborne has made it into the unit that exists, just not on paper."

"I heard," Paige informed him, leaning back in her chair.

"Mmm," Edwards said, raising a sandy eyebrow. "Sure pays off, doesn't it, having so many high-ranking family members?"

She shrugged at the reference to three of her great-uncles, one, a four star General in the Army, another, Commandant of the Marine Corps, and the third, an Air Force Brigadier General. "Didn't help me much," she pointed out. "Everything I have I've earned.

"Good point." He sighed and scrubbed his head. "Well, off to the training flight. We have to be prepped and ready, so let's do this thing."

Paige grabbed her helmet and trotted out the door after him, mind on the mission.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The noise of the routers and the wind was familiar to Paige as they cut through the air over the training area.

"Roger, Super 67 moving into holding pattern," she said into the radio, moving her bird to do just that. A medic helicopter pilot, she carried few men and served instead as an evac. Her team was about to be tested in a mock-combat environment.

Beside her, her co-pilot Randy Halleck was skimming over the controls and clicking the various switches and dials. "Holding steady," he told her.

A sudden drop in altitude caused Paige's stomach to bottom out. "What the hell was that?" she barked at Randy, re-gaining their lost altitude and control of her helicopter.

"System isn't responding properly," Randy snapped back, flicking the controls in earnest now.

"_Super 67, this is Super 68, saw you drop in altitude, everything okay?" _

"Super 68, this is Super 67…electrical malfunction, but it seems to be okay now," she responded to the other pilot, Eric Ajax. To Randy, she added, "See if you can pinpoint the problem, I'm getting a lot of movement in these pedals, Randy."

"On it," Randy assured her, as the men and women behind them shifted uneasily.

"_Super 67, this is command. Land your bird, just to be safe. We can continue this training mission another day."_

No sooner had General Ricks finished his order than the alarms started blaring for altitude drop. Her controls seized up, refusing to command, as her entire console went black.

"We have no control," Paige said calmly to Randy as the lights on their controls flicked on and off. "Try and re-route all power to manual controls."

Randy did as she asked. The helicopter entered a flat spin, heading rapidly towards the Texas dirt. The two pilots tried valiantly to keep her airborne, or at least slow her descent, as the soldiers in back held on to anything they could desperately.

Paige remembered the slam of hitting the dirt, remembered her bird rolling onto its side and slamming into the controls and then being viciously bounced around in her harness as pain erupted along her ribs and her left knee. Her helmeted head connected hard with the ceiling, and everything went dark.

* * *

><p><strong>February 1999<strong>

Ally took a deep breath and allowed Brad to give her a leg up onto Storm. It felt strange, to be riding her sister's prized gelding, but Paige had been adamant that he stay on the circuit to keep fit for when she came home. All the same, it felt like a violation of sorts.

Especially now.

It had been a month since that horrible training accident, but Ally would never forget the sheer terror that had gripped her heart for that first few seconds after learning Paige's Blackhawk had crashed with her aboard. She'd badly wounded her knee, cracked two of her ribs, fractured both her clavicles from being thrown up in the harness, and had suffered deep bruising along her shoulders and back, not to mention a concussion and brain swelling from the impact.

They'd seen Paige frequently, flying down to Texas to visit her while she recovered. She would be off active duty for another two months before returning to flying again. A freak mechanical failure―a one in a million chance―had caused everything to go so wrong that day. Her co-pilot had escaped with the same injuries, and only one of the medics on board had been badly wounded; it had been a miracle no one was killed. It had been pretty bad, but Paige was adamant that she wanted to get back behind the controls.

"Focus," Brad reminded her, patting her knee and pulling her head out of the clouds. "Remember, Paige is watching this from her hospital room."

Ally smiled at him and gathered her reins, pushing everything out of her mind but the task at hand, rubbing Storm's neck. She leaned forward to speak in the gelding's ears.

"C'mon Storm," she whispered as his ears turned back to her. "Let's kick ass. For Paige." Nudging him into a canter, she did a wide circle before starting her course.

When asked who to dedicate her victory to, she proclaimed simply:

"I dedicate it to all of those silent protectors willing to lay down their lives so that we can sleep easy."

* * *

><p><strong>March 1999<strong>

Chris returned home to half the horde. His sister and four of his brothers were still in the army, but it was nice to see everyone. He enjoyed getting back on Admiral and jumping a few rounds with him, and being back with his family even if it wasn't quite the same.

"It's good to have you home, son," Brad beamed, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Glad to see you too, dad," he chuckled. "And you three!" he added, scooping up Gunnar, Lilly, and Gare in one big bear hug with a playful growl, making his much younger half-brothers and sister screech with delighted laughter. "You three have gotten so _big_!"

Everyone was proud he'd made it into 160th, and to be honest, he was, too. It had taken a hell of a lot of hard work and dedication to get there, and he was happy he'd put in the time and the effort to do so. He loved the guys he worked for and loved flying Blackhawks for the most elite helicopter unit in the entire world.

It was a week to wind down and relax, but with three youngsters in the house, it was also joyfully busy. He enjoyed spending time with his growing siblings, especially Gunnar, who was nearly seven now and looked just like their dad, only with blonde hair instead of brown and Debbie's blue eyes instead of hazel.

So, naturally, kids were injury prone, and Gunnar decided to fall of the fence and hurt his arm when his parents had left him alone with the oldest, taking the two youngest out for some mommy-daddy time and giving Gunnar some time with his older brother.

"It hurts," Gunnar moaned from the passenger seat as Chris drove much faster than was legal to Thunder Creek Memorial Hospital, clutching his hand to his chest.

"Keep it elevated if you can," Chris suggested, demonstrating with his own arm. "It'll keep the swelling down. Hold on, little bro, almost there."

By the time they'd pulled into the parking lot, Gunnar's arm looked awful and he was pale as a sheet. Chris scooped him up in his arms and jogged into the hospital and called for help. A doctor immediately rushed over, and he was literally struck dumb. She was _gorgeous_.

She was several inches shorter than him, about Paige's height he'd guess. Her hair was dark, and her soft brown eyes were full of compassion as she looked at Gunnar's injury. Freckles dusted over her nose, and for the first time in a very long time, he reacted to the presence of a beautiful woman.

"What happened?"

"He fell of the fence and landed on his arm. I'm no doctor, ma'am, but it looked to me like he snapped his forearm when he caught himself," he recovered quickly, proud of his quick wits.

"Mmm, probably a greenstick fracture, young bones are hard to break completely. Come on, sweetheart, let's get you in for an x-ray. Do you want your dad to come with you?"

Gunnar was appalled. "He's _not _my dad, he's my brother!" he protested loudly as they were led to a room.

"My dad got remarried," Chris explained quickly for her benefit when she looked confused and flushed at the mistake. He found it enchanting. She blushed the prettiest shade of red! He talked his brother into letting a nurse take him to x-rays and sat in the room with the young doctor.

"You new in town?" he wondered, cocking his head to one side. "I've never seen you before."

"No," she smiled. "I've been here for about two and a half years, now. I ride at your grandpa's barn."

"Oh." Chris suddenly realized a lot had happened in Thunder Creek while he was gone. He stuck his hand out. "I'm Chris Newbern," he introduced himself, noting that her hands were slightly calloused but warm and oddly soft. "I'm in the army, otherwise, we probably would have met a lot sooner."

"As in Newbern Lumber, and Photography, and Woodwork, and―"

"Yeah, we kind of helped found the town way back in the day," he shrugged. "And your name?"

"Doctor Amy Murray," she introduced herself with a smile. "I'm an OBGYN, but I also dabble in pediatrics. Today is technically my day off." She looked at him and smiled. "I apologize for thinking he was your son."

Chris shrugged. "I wasn't exactly young when he was born," he admitted. "And you'd be far from the first. It was a lot worse when he was a baby." His eyes sparkled. "You single, Amy?"

"Last I checked," she shot back, arching an eyebrow.

He grinned.

* * *

><p><strong>November 1999<strong>

Ally's heart was pounding unevenly.

"What do you mean, _NOAH GOT SHOT_!" she exploded at her grandpa, who looked bemused by her temper.

"Well, somebody pointed a gun at him, pulled the trigger, and the bullet lodged in his right shoulder," John explained. "He'll be alright, it hit only tissue, it'll just take a while for his muscles to recover."

Ally swore right then that Noah would _never _get to scare her like this again, and planned to rip into him hard in their next letter. She grabbed the materials and stormed off to the study, intending to give the stubborn man a piece of her mind. He had no right to endanger himself like that!

Fuming, she penned the letter and marched it all the way down to the mailbox, slamming it shut ruthlessly. Even _if _he was at Walter Reed and would be fine in a week, he'd just need a sling, she was ripping him a new one _anyway_.

Stupid protective men!

* * *

><p><strong>December 1999<strong>

The marriage of Christopher John Newbern and Amy Renee Murray was no small affair―no less than eight hundred guests were in appearance and half the town was invited. The other half showed up anyway. The deeply in love bride and groom were happy, and by some miracle (otherwise known as high-ranking family members yanking very hard on numerous strings) the entire Horde was present.

It showed, too. The wedding party was huge. Gunnar and Garrett were co-ring bearers and Lilly and Amy's young cousin Savannah were flower girls. Amy had grown close to "the Horde" as Chris called it, and as a result, her bridesmaids consisted of her blood sisters Brianna and Reagan, as well as Ally, Connie, Paige, and Summer. The groomsmen were an even larger party, with Noah as best man (still in a sling), and included Elliot, Kyle, Jared, Theo, Jake, Michael David, Cole, Jeremy, and Amy's brother Gary.

Chris didn't even mind the fact he got a ton of shit from his brother's for being the first one off the market, but it was worth it.

"I love you," he told Amy right before they said their vows, and she just beamed up at him, that sparkle he loved so much animating her eyes.

"Love you too," she said, as Noah made a pretend gagging noise and pretended to shove his good hand down his throat, Elliot rolled his eyes, Kyle coughed to hide a laugh, Cole snorted, Jeremy's eyes watered from the effort of not laughing, Jared snickered, and the rest of his brothers laughed outright. Gary just looked bemused by the close relationships of the men and shook his head at their childishness.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Brief drabbles that give us a snapshot of two years. Dean comes back to TC in 2000… ;) Guess when that is!

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
>(And faaaaaaaaaster posting! Please click the button? *puppy dog eyes*)<strong>

**Dean appears in the next one, folks…and he'll be around much more often now, too!**


	26. You Again

**A/N: **Hey, y'all. More Dean in this chapter like I promised. Had to jump back in time to August (before Chris & Amy's wedding) to fit in some of Summer's storyline. Paige's continues in Jan 2000, just to give you a reference point. My bad, that should have been in the last chapter…

To those of you who've been waiting for this, here it is: a 10k+ chapter! Woot! Not sure how long they'll be from here on out but the plan I've got all typed out hints between eight and ten more chapters, maybe, depending on how long I make them. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: Only own my OCs. Though, honestly, I wish I owned everything, because Noah Clayborne would be on the show! ;P Oh, and, erm, *clears throat* - any vague reference to _Friday Night Lights _does not belong to me. My friend is obsessed with the show and talked me into using parts of it in the Texas backstory... *sheepish grin*

* * *

><p><em>I found a reason to show  a side of me you didn't know / a reason for all that I do / and the reason is you_  
><em>Hoobstank, "The Reason"<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Six<br>**You Again

**Thunder Creek, WY  
><strong>August 1999

Summer could barely think through the haze of shock surrounding her brain. She couldn't speak, couldn't even comprehend the sentence that had just come out of her father's mouth.

Thankfully, her brother didn't have the same problem.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU _MEAN_**,** WE'RE MOVING TO _**TEXAS**_?" Kyle thundered.

Her thoughts exactly.

David Harris crossed his arms and stared down his belligerent offspring. His wife Theresa stood just behind him, as shocked by his abrupt announcement as her youngest children were.

"I thought I was quite clear on the fact, son, that _we are moving to Texas_."

Kyle was so furious he couldn't even speak. His mouth just opened and closed and no sound came out.

"The _signore_ has ordered me to man the informant network in Texas, as I did all those years ago before we moved up here in the first place. The position of highly regarded."

"To hell with your position!" Kyle spat, his face getting rapidly redder by the second. "It's my _senior year_!"

"That it is," David shrugged, unruffled. "I _am _sorry about that, Kyle, but I cannot disobey a direct order. We're moving to Texas, and that's the end of it."

"But dad!" Summer protested, finally finding her voice. "Me 'n Rush have been working _so hard_, and grandpa won't let me take him down to Texas, and we qualified for regionals this year, and I don't want to be in school without Ally and Connie, it's _my _senior year, too, and―"

"Enough," her father cut her off, rubbing a hand down his face. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. Maybe you can find a new barn down in Texas or something."

"So, what, I'm supposed to find new sisters, too?" she exploded, jumping to her feet. "God, dad, sometimes I really _hate your guts_!"

David could only watch as his two children stormed out of the room, seeking the solace of their siblings.

Summer wished Paige had been home. And Jared, and Elliot, and Chris and Noah, too.

But they weren't home, they were all active duty military, now. Connie had been so upset by the news that she'd vanished and not been seen since earlier that afternoon.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and hoped nobody would ever find her, that she could hide out in the tack room forever.

* * *

><p><strong>Dylan, Texas<br>**September 1999

Texas was _hot_.

Summer immediately hated it with a fiery passion. She and Kyle had not spoken to their dad since their fight in mid-August. It was now early September, and they were starting at their new high school.

She hated being stared at, as they got their schedules and tried to find their lockers. People whispered about the new "twins". She and Kyle were very close in age, and he'd been held back a year, but neither bothered to correct the assumption.

It was miserable. She missed her siblings and wished more than anything she was back home in Wyoming, where she belonged. She felt out of place here at Dylan High School. She couldn't even connect with her distant cousin, Jason, though he'd been trying to be her friend. He'd even brought her by his fellow football players, but she distrusted most of them. Kyle had tried out for the team and made it on instantly, and Coach Taylor was quite impressed with his skills.

Three weeks in and it felt like torture. The cheerleaders were cruel and constantly mocked her for being short and quiet. Kyle got into two fights with guys who were saying things behind her back. Fact of the matter was, she couldn't relate to anybody here. None of them were hunter's kids. She was walking down the hallways, doing her best to ignore everyone, when somebody tripped her and she face planted, her books flying everywhere.

Seething, she looked up at the bitch, Laila. A hundred images flashed through her head of how to wipe that smirk painfully of the pompous, spoiled little brat's face. Oh, the hand-to-hand combat techniques she could utilize!

With a flash of bitterness, she remembered her father's words: _"Whatever you do, don't act like a highly trained fighter. The last thing we need is to draw attention to ourselves. None of that Kung Fu crap Brad insisted on teaching you, you hear me, missy?"_

So, fuming in silence, she started to gather her books back up into a semblance of a pile, forcing herself not to shed the frustrated tears and ignore the laughter around her. Kyle would protect her, but there were some battles she just had to face alone.

"Here," a voice said, and hands entered her line of vision. They were big hands, she noticed, long-fingered, strong, and tan. In them were stacked her books in a neat pile.

Pushing a strand of hair out of her face, she looked up at Tim Rollins, one of the stars of the football team. The unusual shade of his hazelish eyes captivated he, as did his hair, worn longer than every other guy in school, so long that it brushed his collar and fell just past the line of his jaw. Holy lordy, he was hot. The gossip she'd heard hadn't been false, then.

He smiled at her and deposited the stack gently in her hands. Oh, yeah. He definitely looked like a womanizer when he smiled like that, she could see the charm just ooze off him. The one time she'd met him, he'd been too busy sucking face with a cheerleader to pay any attention.

"Thanks," she said stiffly, adding them to her pile.

He didn't seem put off by her rudeness. "You're Kyle's sister, right?" he wondered, rocking back on his heels and cocking his head slightly to one side.

"That's right." She stood and stuffed most of her binders back into her bag, keeping the stack of textbooks in her arms. He stood as well, tucking his hands in his pockets. The hallways had emptied, and with a sinking feeling, she realized she was late to class.

Again.

"Tim Rollins," he introduced himself, holding out his hand.

Summer didn't take it. "I met you already," she reminded him coldly. "You were hung-over and making out with one of the cheerleaders."

Tim's smile faltered a little. "Ah, that," he said, rubbing the back of his head. "Listen…"

"Thanks for the help, Tim," she cut him off, brushing past him. "See you around." She tossed the last one over her shoulder and left him standing bemused in the middle of the hallway, watching the sway of her hips as she raced away.

He was interested, to say the least. That had to be the first time since eight grade a girl hadn't been interested in him. There was something different about her….he just didn't know _what_….

* * *

><p><strong>Dylan, Texas<br>**October 1999

Tim waited for Summer to walk out the doors and immediately fell into step beside her.

Summer rolled her eyes. "Do you ever give up?" she demanded, cocking an eyebrow.

He grinned. "Not where a beautiful young woman is concerned," he said with a wink.

"Oh, please." She laughed a bit and shook her head, walking along the familiar path to her temporary home. He'd been trying to get her to go out with him practically since school started. It hadn't made the cheerleaders any nicer towards her, either. They seemed pissed that he was suddenly interested in her and nobody else. "Don't you have football practice?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

Tim shrugged. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Why?"

"What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?" Summer snapped, giving him a half-hearted glare.

"No, it's the Rollins Inquisition." He reached up to tug on the end of her ponytail. "Spill, shorty."

Summer sighed and straightened her hair out, rubbing his with both her hands for good measure. He just chuckled and patted it back down.

"_Spill_," he insisted.

If someone had told her she'd be confiding in womanizer Tim Rollins on a regular basis back in August, she would have politely told them to go screw themselves. As it happened, he was just as miserable as she was, especially now that his best friend was paralyzed. His family life sucked and he didn't really have any true friends. He covered up the pain with booze and women.

He had quickly become one of her closest friends, despite the displeasure of everyone in the school and her parents. Thankfully, Tim was one of those guys that did whatever he damn well felt like and didn't care about his image.

Somehow, she'd managed to talk him into _trying _to stop drinking, and he'd been pretty successful so far.

Honestly, he kind of reminded Summer a little of Chris, just rougher around the edges. And hot. She knew Chris was attractive, it was just weird thinking of him like that. Besides, he was getting married in a month (and she was _still _irritated she hadn't gotten to meet his bride-to-be face to face. They'd talked tons over the phone but she'd never actually _seen _this Amy Murray).

Tim's grades had started to pull up, too, due in part to the fact he always came to the library at lunch to study with her. To be honest, she spent most weekends studying with her, too.

"My brother is getting married next month," Summer finally sighed, crossing her arms and chewing her lip in thought. "I have to get sized for a bridesmaid dress."

"Dresses?" His eyes lit up like Christmas morning.

"Timothy Rollins, you have a dirty mind," she accused sharply, pointing in his face.

Tim grinned. "I don't recall ever saying I didn't." He leered at her. "Would you like a second opinion on the dresses?"

Summer rolled her eyes. "Why not," she sighed. "You'll just follow me home, anyway."

"What can I say, your mother's cooking is to die for," he grinned, winking at her.

"Oh, good lord."

If she kept rolling her eyes this much, they might get stuck that way.

**/**

"Tim, I can't _believe _you talked me into a game," Summer complained. Football games in Texas bordered on terrifying. She'd gone once to watch Kyle, and after being practically groped by all the excited drunk men around her, hadn't exactly wanted to go again. Any second it could turn into an all-out brawl. They were a _little _obsessed with the sport.

"Come on, Sum, you _promised_," Tim reminded her, holding up his extra jersey with a charming grin.

"Well, if you smile like _that_," she grumbled, pulling the jersey on. She looked ridiculous. He was six feet tall, she under five and a half. It looked like a dress on her. She held her arms out and the fabric dipped. "I feel like a four-year-old in my dad's shirt."

"Here," Tim said, peeling an extra hairband from her wrist. He folded the jersey up slightly, bunched it in the back, tied it off with the hairband and then tucked the little tail up underneath. "There."

"You sure you're not gay?" Summer teased, crossing her arms and smirking up at him.

"I don't do dicks," Tim shrugged, and she laughed at his brashness. He didn't tend to sugar coat things, that was for sure.

**/**

Paige killed the engine on her motorcycle and pulled of her helmet, securing it to her bike. She sat for a moment studying the rapidly filling stadium and put on her patrol cap, making sure her uniform was in tip-top shape and all her patches were properly aligned.

She was excited to see Summer again. Even though they were close enough to each other, she was so busy with the military and Summer so busy with school the most they ever did was talk on the phone.

Summer had asked her to come up sometime and watch Kyle play, and that was part of the reason Paige was there. The other part, besides seeing her sibs of course, was to meet this Tim that Summer had told her so much about.

She got some funny looks as she headed to the ticket line but ignored everyone. She was just inside the gate when she spotted Summer talking to her parents (they were back on speaking terms again). Her patrol cap sat low on her forehead, shading her eyes, allowing her to get relatively close before David noticed her.

As soon as he saw her name tape, his eyes lit up and Summer immediately turned to see what had him so happy.

Summer promptly squealed in joy and raced across the space, all but tackling Paige and throwing her arms around her sister's neck. Paige staggered, her patrol cap flying free, and hugged her back enthusiastically.

"Oh my god I missed you so much!" Summer gushed as she finally released her chokehold.

"Missed you too, Sum," Paige wheezed, bending to retrieve her cap and put it back on her head. She rubbed her throat. "God, I forgot how hard you _squeeze_."

Summer was too giddy to be properly annoyed. "Oh shut up, you missed me too."

"Of _course _I did." Paige looked around at all the students staring at her. "What are they looking at?" she said out of the corner of her mouth.

"Me," Summer shrugged. "I'm not very popular, seeing as I've 'captured the attention of Tim Rollins', something about me not being good enough for him or something."

"Or maybe they're looking at me," an amused voice drawled.

"NOAH!" Summer squealed, launching herself at him, now. Noah grunted and quickly lifted a hand to keep his patrol cap on his head, where it belonged. She was talking so fast he had no idea what she was saying, but picked up enough to guess she was surprised by his presence.

"Surprise," Paige said dryly, watching them with amusement. "I managed to drag him away from work for a day. Fancy that."

"Oh, _thank _you!" Summer laughed, hugging Paige again.

Paige gently untangled herself, and in a mock-stern voice, said, "Members of the military will not engage in displays of affection in public."

"Oh, please," she snorted, crossing her arms. "Who could _possibly _see you?"

"You'd be surprised," Paige teased with a wink.

"General Ricks has eyes in the back of his horns," Noah deadpanned.

Summer happily babbled on with her siblings, not caring in the least that her entire school was staring at her. And her jersey.

Noah noticed. "Who's number thirty-four, Summer?"

"Tim Rollins."

"A boyfriend I need to dismember?"

"Just a friend," Summer hastened to correct him.

Noah's expression all but dripped sarcastic disbelief. "You _do_ know that when a boy gives you his jersey to wear, it pretty much marks you as his, right?"

"Shut up, Noah," Paige and Summer said in unison.

Noah held his hands up in surrender and followed the two girls, David, and Theresa into the stands.

* * *

><p><strong>Fort Hood, Texas<br>**January 2000

Paige sighed heavily and ran a hand through her hair, staring down at the stack of papers on her desk. They were discharging her from the army due to her injuries in the helicopter accident. Her knee had never really been the same and still bothered her sometimes, and they felt that she had served herself well and as it was not a time of war, they needed her slot for someone else more physically able.

It hurt, a little. She loved being a pilot, loved the interactions between her and her fellow soldiers. At least now she got to go back home to Thunder Creek, and to her brother and his new wife.

"Hey, Newbern."

Paige looked up to see her co-pilot Randy Halleck standing there. As usual, the six-foot-five-inch black-haired giant looked uncomfortable in his own skin. "Hey, Hal," she greeted him, tossing him a soda. He caught it and opened it, lowering himself into the chair across from her.

The quiet man took looked down at his soda, dark eyebrows drawn downwards. When he glanced up at her, his gray eyes were filled with an unnamable emotion. "I'm sorry they discharged you, Paige," he said honestly. "I don't know what to do, now. None of the pilots I've met I particularly want to fly with."

"It's alright, Randy," she said, reaching across to gently squeeze his hand. "You think they'll discharge you, too?"

"Dunno," he shrugged, leaning back and fingering with the end of his blouse. "My knee wasn't hurt as bad as yours. I just can't help but think it was my fault. Maybe if I'd flipped a switch, or done something different―"

"Stop, Randy," Paige cut him off gently. "It was a damned miracle none of us died that day. I'm thankful I made it away with what little injuries I had. It could have been worse, so much worse. But we made it." She smiled at him. "You get to uphold my honor now as well. Just never forget why we do what we do. Promise me that."

"I'm going to miss you," Randy sighed, giving her a sad smile. "You're probably my best friend."

"You're my best friend, too," she told him, as her lip quivered. "Stay strong. Fight for both of us, now."

"I promise," he vowed, as they both stood. He knocked aside her hand and pulled her into a bear hug instead. "Now you have to promise to stay in touch."

Paige hugged the gentle giant back. "I will, Randy."

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<strong>  
>February 1, 2000<p>

Dean Winchester turned onto the familiar drive: some of his greatest memories were here, all those years ago with the group of kids he'd only known for a few days. Those days, however, had been some of the happiest of his life. Even now, ten years later, he would admit to himself that sometimes, when his dad had been really drunk and he was stressed from taking care of Sam, he'd pretended that Brad was his dad.

Sometimes, when he'd been afraid and tired and overwhelmed, he'd remembered Brad's big hands rubbing his back to sooth him in his sickness. The older man's deep baritone had put him at ease. He'd always wanted to make the man proud, and while he knew he wasn't his dad and his dad was cool too, sometimes it was nice to just be able to show weakness and not be judged by it.

Taking a deep breath, he killed the Impala's engine at the front of the house. He opened the door and straightened from the car just as the front door swung open and Brad Newbern strode out and down the steps.

"Dean," he called cheerfully, waving as a huge grin spread across his face. "Glad you could come."

"Brad," Dean replied, reaching out to shake his hand. "It's good to see you again. Thanks for that information you shot our way a few months back. Really helped out on the hunt."

"It's my job," he shrugged with a laugh. His hazel eyes appraised Dean with frank curiosity. "You've grown up. Last time I saw you, you were a scrawny smartass teenager."

"Well, I'm not scrawny anymore," said Dean with a grin, "but I'm definitely still a smartass."

"You don't say." Brad shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder. "Why don't you come on it? Deb was just making us all some lunch."

Dean followed him inside, chatting easily about the hunts he'd been through recently, updating him on his dad and Sam―Brad didn't press him when he said in a clipped tone that Sam was planning to head to Stanford in the fall―and his life in general since the last time they'd seen each other in person, nearly seven years ago.

"Dean," Debbie said with a warm smile. "My goodness, you grew up!"

"I did," Dean agreed with a laugh, hugging her. "It's good to see you again."

"Agreed, agreed. I heard you're here to get some information for your dad. Still planning to join the Brotherhood in a few years?"

"That's the plan." Dean shrugged and grinned. "Don't have much else to do. I can only take my dad in small doses, and besides, he's pissed at Sam at the moment and not much fun to be around. Him and Sam are fighting like cats and dogs. It's good to get away for a bit."

"I see." Debbie smiled and wiped her hands on a towel. "Well, I'll go get the little ones up and ready for lunch. You can head out to the barn, the older kids are out there doing God only knows what with John."

Dean bid them farewell and trotted down the porch steps, heading in the direction of the barn. He could hear raised voices as he got nearer, and curious, followed the noise until he found the source.

"OW, CHRIS, THAT WAS MY―NO DON'T PRESS THAT!" the first voice shouted. He recognized it as Jared's.

"DAMN IT, CHRISTOPHER!" a second voice joined in.

"I'M SORRY, OKAY? I CAN'T SEE A GODDAMN THING!" That was Chris, quite affronted over whatever was going on, judging by his tone.

"STOP YELLING!" a female voice cut in. He wasn't sure who it belonged to―there were five possibilities, but whoever it was, she could definitely yell loud. Impressive, to say the least. It sounded a bit like Paige, but for all he knew, it could be Ally. He hadn't seen them in a few years.

"DON'T TOUCH THAT, YOU IDIOT!"

"FUCK YOU, ELLIOT! AND GET THAT DAMN THING OUT OF MY GODDAMN _FACE_!" roared Chris.

"IF YOU DON'T STOP BICKERING, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU_ BOTH_," the female voice cut in again. "Give me that wrench!"

"I can't _see _the wrench, I have mud in my face, damn it!"

"No, don't pull on that, it―damn it, pull on _that_!"

"I'm _already _pulling on it, asshole!"

Dean rounded the corner then, and had to pause. There was a giant hole in the ground―probably about ten feet wide and at _least _seven feet deep. Out of it was spewing water and mud. Everywhere. There were men and women moving about, drenched and splattered in mud, as various tools were thrown into and out of the hole.

There was an older man standing off to one side, his hair not yet grey, more silver. He had his hands on his hips and was dressed as a typical Wyoming cowboy, minus the Stetson. When he turned, Dean caught a flash of sparkling blue eyes, and a face that could be an older version of Brad. This was John Newbern III, leader of the Brotherhood.

"Water line up and broke," John explained, spotting him. "Best thing about grandkids is the slave labor." He grinned rakishly. "Good to see you, Dean."

"Good to see you too, sir," Dean replied, shaking his hand.

"Coming for our summer training?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I expect you'll do well."

Dean smiled. "I hope so." He peered down into the hole. "They need any help?"

John grimaced and shrugged. "Oh, probably," he sighed. "They're fighting like a bunch of four-year-olds."

Shrugging, Dean pulled off his jacket and shirts until he was just in his undershirt and slid down into the hole. He was immediately up to his ankles in mud, and pushed forward to the four people down in the hole. "Hey," he said loudly to get their attention. "Need any help?"

Chris wiped mud out of his eyes. "Is that Dean Winchester?" he wondered, squinting through the spray of mud and water.

"Looks like it," the man next to him said.

"Dean," he introduced himself, reaching out to shake the other man's hand.

"Elliot," the man replied, wiping a forearm across his face. "That's Chris, Jake, and Paige."

Dean turned his eyes to Paige and whistled playfully, smirking. "Hello again," he greeted her, winking.

Paige glared at him. The last time she'd seen him, he'd caused her nothing but trouble. "Winchester," she said coldly, suddenly self-conscious. She was in jeans, boots, and a tank top that was white. In short, it left little to the imagination.

The way he was leering at her, he'd noticed that fact a while ago.

Paige was a bundle of pissed-off nerves by the time they got the damn water line fixed _four hours later_. Dean was insufferable, brushing up against her at every chance he got, making it look like an accident. His leers were getting seriously annoying, as were his innuendos. She was struggling to _not _break his arms by that point and her brothers were more amused with her internal fight to control her temper than they were angry over Dean.

"I will _never _sleep with you," she finally exploded when they were all pulled out of the hole, muddy and soaking wet and cold.

Dean wiped the mud from his face and smirked. "Sure you won't," he teased.

She threw her hands in the air. "You are _insufferable_!" she exploded.

"And _you're _in denial."

"Oh my God, I give up. Chris, I'm going to take a shower before I _kill _him!"

The guys watched her go and turned to Dean.

"Do you have a sense of self-preservation?" Elliot wondered, one eyebrow arching.

"Tell me something," Dean replied, hosing off as he spoke. "Would any other guy still be alive if they talked to her like that?"

"No," Jake said instantly. It dawned on him then. "Oh," he said slowly as the light bulb clicked on.

"You like pushing her buttons, don't you?" Chris mused, taking the hose to wash himself off, too.

"They're sexy buttons," Dean shrugged, watching Paige's hips sway as she stormed into the house.

"Dude, you have a death wish," Elliot mused, rubbing a towel through his hair.

Dean grinned. "Oh, but I'll die a _very _happy man," he mused.

An hour later, Dean left with the information his dad had wanted, leaving behind a pissed off blonde hunter in his wake.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<strong>  
>February 9, 2000<p>

Chris Newbern wasn't a bit surprised to find his absent little sister slaving over chores in the barn. He settled his long, lean frame against the doorway to watch her, dark brows furrowed in thought. Her toffee blonde hair was pulled into a tight braid, face set in intense concentration as she scrubbed furiously at the leather of her saddle, the polished surface so well cared for it was really a wasted effort. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he strolled forward to sit on the saddle stand beside her.

Paige didn't breathe a word, but her hand stilled its furious circles on the leather, if only for a moment, before she resumed again tenfold.

This was far from the first time this had happened. Chris sighed heavily and rested his shoulder blades against the wall behind him, wiggling to get comfortable. Despite people's beliefs, he was not just a pretty face. In fact, he was extremely adept at reading body language, almost to the point of having a sixth sense for it. Her body language was telling him she was angry, hurt, and did not particularly want to talk about anything at the moment.

Well, he was a sucker for punishment anyway. "You want to talk about it?" he said cautiously.

"No."

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. A comfortable silence – on his end at least – spread over the tack room. "You do that any harder and you'll buff a hole in it," he said conversationally, stretching his long legs out. To complete the image, he settled his Stetson higher on his forehead and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

With a resigned sigh, she hefted the saddle onto the nearest wall rack and nudged the bucket of polishing equipment to one side with her booted foot. She glanced sideways at her big brother and exhaled long and slow.

"You need new shirts again," said Paige, eyes tracing the tight fabric from shoulder to elbow. "Your biceps are getting as big as trees."

Chris glanced down at himself, self-conscious. "Are not," he protested.

Paige smirked. "I doubt you'd even notice, and Amy is hardly one to complain," she teased. "Seriously, Chris. Your shirt looks like it's about to explode at the seams. I could do pull-ups off your bicep."

"Ha ha," Chris muttered, shouldering her. "So, since you're no longer contemplating homicide, what's got you so hot and bothered?"

"Our meddling, control-freak of a grandfather," Paige grumbled, seizing a grooming brush and launching it across the room to quell her frustration. It hit the wall with a satisfying _thwack_ and clattered to the floor. "He tends to forget I'm a soldier whenever it's convenient."

Sighing, Chris sat forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them. The barn cat ambled through the doorway and zeroed in on his long fingers as possible playthings. He wiggled them obligingly while he gathered his thoughts. "Grandfather comes from old times," he said hesitantly.

"Oh, bullshit," Paige snorted. "I'm just as good at fighting as the lot of you, hell, better than others. For a whole damn year I flew through combat zones. Its damn insulting to be treated like porcelain, Chris."

"Well, you'll be hard-pressed to change Grandpa's mind," he pointed out, shrugging. "So why bother?"

"Why give in?" she retorted, launching another brush.

"Quit that," Chris scolded, grabbing her wrist before she could launch a third. "We don't need holes in the walls."

"Bite me."

Chris rolled his eyes. The Barracuda was coming out full force. Great. "So, find some other way to get involved, or go out even though he tells you not to," he said conversationally as he ripped a fourth brush from her grasp, dropped it in the grooming bucket, and set the bucket sliding out of reach with the toe of his boot.

"Jerk," she muttered, turning her face away from him.

"Love you too, baby girl," Chris teased, tugging the end of her braid.

Paige sighed. "Don't you have a pregnant wife to chase around?" she demanded, looking up at the ceiling fan as it twirled, blowing cool air into what would be a very stuffy barn without it.

"Amy is with her parents today." He scratched his chin. "Something about nurseries that's very top secret and I'm not supposed to know a thing about."

"Mmm," she said, smiling slightly despite herself. Amy was a little reserved, but Chris was slowly but surely pulling her out of her shell. Nowadays she could loosely be described as 'bubbly', not that anyone would ever tell her that, of course, especially since they'd found out she was pregnant. Amy had said she hoped it was a boy. She had this built-in aversion to extreme female things like ruffles and pink.

"Speaking of people to chase around, where's Connie?" Chris wondered, straightening a little to peer into the hallway. His sister's blonde soon-to-be-hunting-partner was nowhere in his line of sight; a relief, that.

Paige shrugged nonchalantly and drummed her fingers on her knee. "Probably off setting fire to something," she sighed. "Where else would she be?"

His eyes got as round as saucers as he spun to look at her. "Do you really want me to answer that question?" he demanded, voice rising slightly. Vivid flashbacks of childhood summers came before his eyes.

"What's the big deal? If you're that worried, _you _deal with her."

"Hell no!"

Rolling her eyes, Paige brushed her hands on her jeans and studied her fingernails. "You know what I don't understand?" she said aloud, not expecting him to answer. "How you men are all so big and macho, but when it comes to dealing with Connie, you pee your pants like a bunch of frightened two-year-olds and book it as fast as you can in the opposite direction. Well, except for Noah, anyway."

Immediately taking offense, Chris stiffened. "I do not," he protested loudly. "I just… don't like having to talk to her when she gets into her…um…moods," he finished lamely, palming his face.

A coy smile curled Paige's lips. "Admit it," she teased. "You're _afraid _of her."

"Damn straight," Chris grumbled. "Anyone with half a mind would be."

"I'm not afraid of her," Paige pointed out. "You calling me stupid?"

"No, I'm calling you the one person on the planet she doesn't hate."

"Connie doesn't hate everyone." Paige crossed her arms and smirked. "She likes us, the Baraldi family, and the Clayborne family, and she tolerates the Conclave…for the most part." Her expression turned thoughtful. "Okay…maybe she does hate everyone else."

"Maybe?" he repeated, eyebrows shooting up.

Paige stuck her tongue out at him and chuckled, crossing her arms to mimic him.

"You okay, baby girl?"

"I was fine until Winchester showed up."

"What _is _it about him that ties you into knots, anyway?"

She punched him on the shoulder. "Oh, shut up," she sighed.

Chris just chuckled and pulled her into his side to kiss the top of her head. "Love you too, baby cakes," he teased, jumping up and darting through the door.

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Paige protested in a laugh, chasing him from the barn.

Their laughter rang through the yard, but Chris' mission had been a success: Paige's sour mood had been forgotten.

* * *

><p><strong>Outskirts of Red Trail Ranch, Thunder Creek, WY<strong>  
>March 12, 2000<p>

Dean stared out the windshield, not knowing whether to burst out laughing or pound his fist against the dash in frustration. The rain had started four hours ago, and instead of letting up like his dad had expected, was falling harder than ever before, pounding against the roof in a relentless onslaught of water so thick he couldn't even see the hood of the Impala.

"What do we do?"

John turned to face his son, shrugging his shoulders hopelessly. "I can't drive in this," he admitted, waving a hand towards the windshield. "I'm going to have to call Brad, have him come pick us up."

"But he won't be able to drive in this either," Dean pointed out, dryly.

"Damn," sighed John, rubbing his eyes. "I need sleep. And coffee. And a dry, warm bed."

"Touché," said Dean.

"We have to be close," said John under his breath, digging around in his pocket for his pager. He was busy for a while, and by the time he received a response from Brad Dean was staring out the window, chin propped on his fist while he watched the water run rivulets down the glass.

"He coming?"

"Said he was sending someone."

"With what? Superman?" said Dean, as the rain poured, if possible, even harder. The sheer might of Mother Nature's fury would have been more impressive from inside the ranch house they were supposed to be visiting. "This sucks."

"Stop whining," said John absently, squinting through the water in an effort to see if a truck was coming.

"I'm not whining, I'm saying 'this sucks'."

"Quit being a smartass."

"I would die."

John glanced over to see Dean smirking and couldn't help but chuckle. The car fell into comfortable silence, both men studiously ignoring the presence lacking in the back seat. Neither of them had mentioned Sam since he decided to stay behind for this one, John out of anger, Dean out of anger and confusion.

"Dad, what's that?"

Dean was leaning forward, squinting thorough the windshield at blobs coming towards them in the rain. John looked as well, and was so focused on looking forward that he let out a loud yell and jumped when something knocked hard and firm against his window.

A blurry figure could be seen, with a tan blob for a face and what looked to be a cowboy hat. The person made the unmistakable waving gesture of "come outside", and with a reluctant groan, Dean and John stepped from the Impala into the downpour.

Both of them were instantly soaked to the skin.

John pressed his hand onto his forehead to keep the rain out of his eyes, squinting at the young man standing before him. Dean felt a grin spread over his face when he realized it was Chris Newbern, the man he'd met briefly on his last visit and liked immediately.

"Mr. Winchester, I'm Chris Newbern, my dad sent us out to get you," Chris shouted over the rain. "Do you have bags?"

"A few," said John, heading for the trunk.

"Hey, Dean," said Chris, beaming, reaching out to shake Dean's hand. He was indeed wearing a cowboy hat that was drooping slightly under the weight of the water, sending the rain cascading off the hat like tiny waterfalls, but at least his face was dry.

"Hey Chris," said Dean, shaking the offered hand. "How're we getting out of here?"

Chris just grinned. "Horses." He pointed to a spot behind him, and after a moment of blinking water from his eyes, Dean spotted three horses standing there, being held by a second rider on the ground.

John returned from the trunk, travel bags over his shoulder. He'd kept the weapons in the now-locked trunk, opting only for his and Dean's handguns. He followed Chris to the horses, Dean pacing along beside Brad's oldest son.

"You'll be on that one," Chris called over the noise of the storm, pointing to the biggest of the lot, a horse of a color Dean could only guess as the rain had darkened its coat to a blackish-gray. Then again, that could be lack of light. As he approached the animal, the rider ducked under its neck, one hand on the reins.

Dean froze in his tracks, and so did the rider, staring up at him.

_Blue eyes_, was all he could think. _Those damn blue eyes._

Paige didn't have a clue what to say. Chris had said John; not a word of Dean had been mentioned. This was just _great_. Tongue-tied, she tried to think of something not-bitchy to say, even as Wrath tugged on the reins. The stallion wanted _very _badly to return to the nice, warm barn. She inwardly cursed the flush creeping up her cheeks as those all-too-familiar gold-flecked green eyes raked up her body, from her mud-covered boots to her rain-wetted jeans and long-sleeved shirt (that she now realizes was clinging a _big _close for comfortable modesty―an apparent theme in their relationship), to the hat on her head. He certainly took his own sweet time shamelessly checking her out.

He'd matured, she noted. She'd been too mad at him to notice in February. Those were definitely muscles bulging under the fabric of his clinging T-shirt. She had a sudden flashback of his arms wrapped tightly around her in Storm's stall, and fought for equilibrium.

"You sure are wet a lot when I'm around," was all he said, mentally slapping himself. Not exactly his usual smooth self…the snarky part of him just slipped right out by default.

"Dean," said Paige, pleased with herself for how cool she managed to keep her voice despite the outrage that shot through her. She only hoped he couldn't see her furious blush in the rain, or the spark of fury in her eyes.

"Paige," he returned, and she was curious to note his voice was much deeper and rougher than usual, even as he cleared his throat. He'd noticed that furious spark; she was spunky, he liked that. "I'm, uh, riding with you I take it?"

"Unfortunately." Paige turned her back on him to tighten her girth and speak a few soothing words in Wrath's ear.

Dean shamelessly took the opportunity to study her jean-clad mile-long legs. He cocked an appreciative eyebrow, smirk full on his lips, and didn't bother to pretend he hadn't just been checking out her ass when she turned to face him again. She was taller than he remembered and curvy in all the right places, no longer a girl, but a woman. And a beautiful one at that.

"Do you mind?" Paige growled, glaring at him through the rain forming a sort of water-curtain between them. Wrath responded to her sudden spike of temper by stomping his foot into the slushy mud, throwing his head up, pinning his ears back, and shooting Dean the nastiest horse-glare in the history of forever.

"Not in the least," he quipped, smirk firmly in place.

"You were checking out my butt."

"Mmm," he agreed. "Beautiful butt."

"Oh, God," Paige muttered, reaching out to grab his wrist and haul him towards the horse, grip purposefully painfully tight. "Hold your hand out like this." She held her own hand out, palm up, fingers flat.

Deciding that pissing off the master rider wasn't exactly intelligent, he humored her and did so. "Why?" he wondered.

"Shut up," said Paige, bite in her voice. Dean wasn't offended.

"Or what? " Dean challenged, playful glint entering his eyes.

Paige forced herself to ignore what that glint did to her state of mind. She sent up a brief prayer for patience and strength to fend off this impossibly infuriating man's advances. "Hold your hand out to him, like this. No, not like that! _Flat_." She pulled a carrot in his palm and slipped her hand beneath his, her fingers curling around the edges of his palm. "Offer the carrot to Wrath, slowly, so you don't startle him. He hates people."

"What?" Dean hissed, trying to pull his hand back.

"I'm the only one he will let ride him," Paige explained patiently, not letting him pull his hand back. "He won't bite you as long as I'm standing right here. Don't be afraid, he can sense that." She made a clicking noise with her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "C'mere, Wrath, that's a good boy."

Wrath's ears remained pinned for a moment more before his dark-eyed gaze switched to Paige and those elegant ears pricked forward. He snorted loudly and tossed his head, taking two steps forward. Dean held perfectly still, hoping beyond hope he wasn't about to lose his fingers, and almost started when the horse's warm breath washed over his palm. The velvet softness of Wrath's wet muzzle brushed his skin right before the horse gently lipped the carrot from his palm, munching happily, one eye watching Dean with the intensity of a hawk.

"He'll let you on him now, I think," said Paige, rubbing her horse's forehead. She tugged Dean's hand and led him to the left side of the horse. "Lift your left leg," she instructed. She rolled her eyes when he shot her an incredulous look. "Lift it, city boy, come on. Good." Paige locked her fingers together and motioned for him to set his leg on her hands. "Good. Grab the saddle horn with your left hand and the back edge of the saddle with the other. On three, I'm going to boost you onto his back, and whatever you do, don't knee him in the side, he'll bolt."

Before Dean had a moment to let that sink in, she was on three and he was being hefted airborne. He slid into place on the horse's saddle, clutching at the mane. She motioned for him to scoot backwards, off the saddle, and he did so, sitting just behind it. He glanced downwards to see Chris giving Paige a leg up, and let go of the mane before she sat on his hands.

"Don't you people usually use different saddles?" Dean wondered, noting that this was way different than the one's they'd used at the shows.

"This is called a western saddle. It's hard to have two people riding in one saddle, you know, and besides, Wrath isn't very used to English saddles yet." Paige turned around to grab his shirt and pull him forward. "Come on, you'll want to hold onto me unless you'd rather fall face-first in the mud."

Dean wasn't sure he'd heard right, so he cautiously rested his hands on her hips. He was a little surprised when she grabbed his wrists, yanked him forward so that her back was pressed to his chest, wrapped his arms around her waist for him, and clicked her tongue.

Chris and John were already trotting ahead, the third horse bearing their packs and a light weapons bag strapped to a saddle held close by the lead rope tied around Chris' saddle horn.

Paige guided Wrath expertly, Dean's arms tight around her waist, his thumbs rubbing absent circles on her hips. She went to slap his hands before she felt vibrations in his chest and wondered what he was doing. She jumped a little when he tucked his face into her neck, and then she could hear that he was humming Metallica.

Instead of making some smart ass remark like she would have normally, or beating him up for just how close he'd decided to push the touching boundary, she left him alone. After all, the heat radiating off of him was incredible. It was a tradeoff: he got to keep his balls, and she stopped shivering.

Dean started when the horse beneath him started moving still faster; instead of bouncing, it was now a sort of rolling, pitching motion. He tightened his grip just a bit, trying his damndest to ignore the feel of her. And how she smelled so good, like the faint scent of her perfume and something else he couldn't identify. And how smooth the skin of her neck was against his cheek.

She cleared her throat, and he withdrew slightly, but still keeping his own head under the cover of her hat.

"Relax," she said loudly over the noise of the horse's trek through wherever the hell it was they were, exactly. "Trust me, Dean, you won't fall off."

"I trust no one," said Dean, voice muffled in the skin of her neck.

Paige forced herself to ignore his warm breath brushing her skin, the shiver that went up her spine. God, he was turning her into a harlot! Her dad would eat him alive… for that matter, he'd probably get a firing squad that included Chris, Noah, the Knox boys, Kyle, Uncle Bruce, Uncle Pete, Grandpa John, Great-Uncle George, and about a hundred others if they could see him with her right now.

Oh, and Connie would kill her, too.

Always that to remember.

"Okay, Batman," she volleyed back, pulling back on the reins. They were nearing the ridge that would take them down to her grandfather's land. She slowed Donas to a walk, noting that Chris did the same with Taurus up ahead, right before the big horse disappeared over the edge.

It looked like a sheer drop, but was really just a steep hill they would have to crisscross to get down properly, a feat made difficult with rain, but for sure-footed horses like theirs wouldn't have much of a problem.

Dean was surprised and lifted his head, leaning over her shoulder to look her in the face. She turned to look at him, jerking back a little when she realized the close proximity. "You know about Batman?" he inquired, one eyebrow arching.

"No shit," said Paige, grinning a little. "I have four blood brothers you know. And I hang out with mostly guys, too. Plus I'm completely and totally obsessed with all things DC Universe superheroes." She blushed a little and stopped talking, clearing her throat awkwardly. "Well, anyway. I just like superheroes. Noah used to read the comics to us when we were kids."

He smiled, truly smiled. "Don't be embarrassed," he said softly against her ear, so softly that it was difficult for her to hear him over the rain. "Superman and Batman got me through some tough times, too, when I was younger."

Smiling, Paige turned to face him, and was surprised to see that his smirk had been replaced by a real, true smile. He had a dimple in his cheek. _A dimple_. His eyes were sparkling and his teeth were white and the corners of his eyes crinkled and… uh-oh. She shut down that train of thought right then and there.

Still smiling, he leaned in, and she stiffened with shock when he pulled her partway around to face him, her hands clutching his shirt. Her body didn't know whether to pull him closer or shove him away, but before she could gather her wits to make a decision, he pressed his lips to her cheek, lingering for only a moment before he pulled away.

"Thanks for not letting me fall," said Dean, clearing his throat. It almost killed him not to kiss her lips, but as stubborn as she was, it was going to take him a while to woo her. He had time, and when he felt like it, he was capable of patience.

"Anytime," said Paige, turning back around to steer Wrath down the slope. Up ahead the lights from the ranch house could be seen through the rain, sort of. The big horse stumbled and Dean inhaled sharply, but she just shifted her weight to aid him, and because of Dean's tight hold shifted him too and the horse regained his footing and resumed downhill. The rain had lessened considerably, but was still falling quite heavily.

Dean wasn't entirely sure, but maybe she hated him a little less… and maybe, just maybe, they could start off fresh, being friends this time.

**/*\**

Summer, on spring break and happy to be back in Thunder Creek (albeit temporarily) watched from the porch as the four drenched riders arrived in front of Red Trail Ranch. Her eyebrows climbed up her forehead when she noticed that Dean was riding with Paige, and that he had one arm looped around her waist, and even more so, that Paige didn't appear to be protesting. He was looking at her, and as they neared she noticed he would nod or smile every once and a while, and that Paige would do the same.

The pair appeared to be having intelligent conversation.

"…used to read them to my brother all the time when I was younger," Dean was saying as Paige halted Wrath on the lawn. "I disagree with you, though. He's an elf, so doesn't that automatically make him more badass, just because he's an elf?"

"Maybe," said Paige as she slid off Wrath and reached up to help him down. "But Eómer survives the Ring War without a scratch, and he's just a man. Not to mention, he's freaking badass. _And_ insane."

Dean chuckled and stretched his legs experimentally as soon as he was on solid not-so-dry ground. "You just like him because he's a horse lord," he teased.

Paige rolled her eyes and loosened the girth of the saddle pad. "Take it from someone who knows, Dean, when I say that doing _anything _involving skill from the back of a horse is immensely difficult."

"Even swinging a sword?" he mocked.

"Especially swinging a sword. You were just cantering with me on Wrath. Tell me, how hard would it be to accurately fire a bow or swing a sword while bouncing up and down with the horse's movements?"

"Point taken," said Dean, rubbing his chin. He spotted Summer on the deck. "Oh, hey Summer."

"Dean," Summer replied. He walked off to join John, and she turned to Paige with both eyebrows raised. "What is he doing here? And why were you _talking _to him?"

"John and Dean came for a hunt or something, and he's not so bad after all, I guess," said Paige with a shrug, handing Wrath's reins to Hank. "We talked most of the time down the ridge. He's actually kind of funny, and intelligent." She shook her head as if she couldn't quite believe what she was saying. "Who knew, right?"

Summer snorted and shook her head. "Girl, you are _sopping _wet," she scolded. "Let's get you inside before you get pneumonia."

"Yeah, yeah, mother," said Paige, sighing. She allowed herself to be shoved through the kitchen doorway, only to be met with most of her sibs on the other side. "Hey, guys."

Jared arched his eyebrows at her appearance. "Where the hell did you and Chris go? For a swim in the lake?"

"No, we had to pick the Winchesters up," said Paige, peeling off most of her sopping clothing. "I'm going to go shower and change. Be back in a bit." Before they could protest, she jogged up the stairs. The shower took five minutes, and finding her favorite dry sweats another three. By the time she was headed downstairs, the Winchesters were being led upstairs by her grandpa, who paused to hug her.

Paige smiled at John and Dean and continued the rest of the way down the stairs, heading immediately for Summer and Ally, who were on the couch in the living room throwing popcorn at the back of Kyle's head. She sat between them, grabbed a handful, and joined their sport, giggling when her grandpa's basset hound puppy Royce raced around the living room to get all the pieces.

"What's he doing?" Paige wondered, noting that Kyle didn't seem to notice he was the target of their game. His nose was buried in some kind of letter.

"Reading letters from his _girlfriend_." Summer's tone was mockingly scornful in the way only a sister's could be.

"Girlfriend?" Paige repeated, eyebrows shooting up as she looked at Summer. It would seem her sibs moved to Texas and everything changed! "When did _that_ happen?"

"Who knows," shrugged Summer. "But she sends him letters all the time. You should _see _his Christmas break stack. There's like a hundred of them. It's _disgusting_."

"Good Lord."

"Tell me about it."

Paige threw a piece of popcorn at Ally's face to get her attention before popping a few in her mouth. "Why are _you_ still here?" said Paige, her left eyebrow lifting a fraction. "Don't you start school again in, like, two days?"

"Yeah," said Ally, glaring at her and launching a return volley of popcorn. "Grandpa's letting me take the Learjet back to California."

"Ah, high school…fun, fun." Paige continued to munch on her popcorn, looking over her shoulder and into the kitchen. "What do you think they're talking about?" The guys (minus Kyle, who was busy reading his love letters, and Noah and Michael, who were deployed) were sitting at the kitchen table, talking in hushed tones and trying very hard to act as if they hadn't just been staring at the back of her head.

"You," said Ally and Summer in unison without even looking in the kitchen or at Paige, resuming their target practice on Kyle's head.

"_Me_? Why me?"

"Because you rode in with pretty boy having his hands all over you."

"His hands were _not _all over me," said Paige hotly, glaring at each of them in turn. "He wouldn't even touch me. _I _had to grab his arms and do it for him, otherwise he would have eaten a face full of mud."

"My, my, miss defensive much?" said Summer teasingly.

"Oh, shut up," muttered Paige, launching a popcorn kernel at Kyle with considerable force. He didn't notice, just flipped the page of his letter to the backside. "Stupid, meddling, controlling, over-bearing, bossy, over-protective big brothers," she mumbled, launching yet another kernel at Kyle's head.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, the boys were having a very different conversation.

"She's too young," insisted Elliot.

"Dude, she's almost twenty," Jared pointed out. "That's not 'too young'. She's a big girl, she can take care of herself."

"Yeah, well, not with him she can't," Elliot muttered.

"Oh, shut up," Jake groaned, dropping his head to the table. "Paige is perfectly capable of making her own decisions! You've got no right to tell her otherwise El, for God's sake, you sleep with every woman you possibly can!"

"That's not fair!"

Jake rolled his eyes at his little brother. "You're just lucky she can't hear what you're saying, lil bro, or she'd kick your ass."

"I still say we need to watch him like a hawk," said Elliot grouchily. "He's like us, and for that reason, I know exactly what he can do. Paige never gets left alone with him. Period."

"Paranoid much?" said Cole, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh, shut up, pup."

"I'm not a pup."

Elliot smirked. "_Pup_."

"Stop it," said Chris, speaking up for the first time since sitting down at the table. His hair was still damp from his shower. "Look, guys, as much as I'm sure you think you're helping, you're not. She hated him at first, but maybe they'll be friends. We just need to watch and see what happens."

"But what if they're sleeping together?" Elliot hissed.

Chris paled. "That's not funny," he growled.

"They _could_ be."

"We're not," a hard voice said from behind them. The men at the table spun to find Dean standing there in sweatpants and a tank top, leaning against the doorway. His eyebrows were scrunched downwards, his eyes as hard as ice chips, subjecting the men at the table to his intimidating face for the first time. Needless to say, most were impressed, except for Cole of course, who thought he was God's gift to mankind.

"And I should believe you?" Elliot challenged.

"I've been here for, like, thirty minutes," Dean said, swaggering over to the table and plopping himself down in the nearest chair, giving each man at the table a level look in turn. "Twenty of which were spent on the back of a horse, and ten more in talking with John and taking a shower. Tell me, when in the _hell _would I have time to ravage her as you seem to think I have?"

Utter silence fell at the table.

"And besides," he added, leaning forward to take an apple from the bowl on the table and studiously ignoring their glares, "I take _way _longer than five minutes."

Chris bit back a grin at Jared's enraged growl and Elliot's indignant spluttering. He could clearly see the glint of amusement in Dean's green eyes; hell, Paige was _his _sister for Christ's sake and he wasn't having a cow like the rest of them seemed to be.

Dean winked at Chris and they both grinned and chuckled.

"Well, I'm glad _you _think this is funny!" Jared exploded, rounding on Chris. "If Noah was here―"

"If Noah was here, we'd all be dead," Chris cut him off before he could even finish his thought. "Besides, Noah _likes _Dean, and I like Dean, and I know he's not sleeping with my sister, so why don't we all just chill the hell out?"

* * *

><p><strong>March 13, 2000<strong>

Dean woke up mid-morning and took a quick shower. The guest rooms of the ranch house were as nice as he remembered. He pulled on a pair of jeans, shoved his feet into his biker boots, pulled on a white tank top and buttoned a dark blue long-sleeved shirt over that. He rolled the sleeves to his elbows, put the amulet Sam had gotten him back around his neck, and headed out to find some food.

He ate a simple breakfast of cereal, listening to his dad and Brad chatting.

"Dean, you mind if I leave you here for a while? John has some extra stuff he wants to go over with you before you're eligible for the Trials."

Dean shrugged one shoulder, his mouth too full of cereal to talk, and shook his head.

"Alright. I'll go see what I can find out about this case then." John clapped Dean on the shoulder. "I'll go back and get your brother, take him with me. 'Bout time he got some solo time on a hunt, anyway."

With that, John was gone, and Dean was alone with Brad Newbern.

"There's just a few things we need to go over, Dean," Brad said conversationally. "About what you know and all that stuff." His expression switched to irritated. "Seeing as you're dad's had you hunting _way _longer than you've been allowed to _and _he keeps making up excuses for you not being able to attend the Trials…"

Dean shrugged and swallowed. "My dad kind of marches to the beat of his own drum," he explained needlessly.

"Hmph," the older man grunted. "Come on. Time for a pop quiz . . . let's go to my office, though . . ."

He swallowed the last bite of cereal, put the bowl in the sink, and hastened after the much taller man.

**/**

Two and a half hours later, he emerged from the office feeling like he'd just been through a wringer. Brad had coaxed every single detail of every single hunt Dean could remember, had gone so far back he was asking questions about his mother's death and what he remembered. He was emotionally exhausted and wandered out onto the porch seeking some kind of distraction.

A warm breeze brushed his skin, ruffling his hair. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, taking a moment to relax and just breathe. When he opened his eyes, he was struck dumb yet again by the sheer beauty of his place. Snow-tipped peaks stretched into that endless expanse of cloudless blue, the yellow-green plains rolling gently away from him. The crops were patches of emerald, neat squares carefully tended by this kindhearted family. A whinny rang through the soft noises of ranch life, and he looked to the paddocks. Two horses were chasing each other around in circles, nipping at each other's rumps. He smiled at the sight and trotted down the steps, hands still stuffed in his pockets.

Chris was nowhere to be found. He glanced up at the sun and judged the time to be about three in the afternoon, give or take. Sighing deeply he ambled towards the barn and walked through the doors. Cool air blew in his face, stirred by the fans situated around the place.

Horses snorted softly at him, some contentedly munching hay, others dozing with their heads over the stall doors. He walked down the aisle, his boots heavy on the cement, reaching up for a pat here and there.

A white-and-gray head three stalls away from him drew his attention. Storm turned his head towards him and pricked his ears forward.

"Hey, Storm," Dean greeted him, reaching up to stroke a hand down his velvet soft muzzle. Storm nickered softly and nudged his chest with his muzzle. "You haven't changed a bit." He stroked a hand down the gelding's muscular neck. "Still kicking butt and taking names in the ring, I bet, huh? Taking care of that pretty rider of yours?"

Paige emerged from the tack room, saddle balanced on her hip, and froze just out of the doorway. Dean was standing with Storm, and she'd caught the tail end of his comments, barely containing a snort. 'Pretty rider of yours'? Who was he kidding?

Storm saw her and almost knocked Dean over when he swung his head around and nickered softly, nostrils vibrating softly.

Despite her irritation at Dean's presence, she smiled at her gelding and hurried forward to kiss the end of his nose. "Not this afternoon, bubba," she crooned, rubbing her cheek on his nose. "You had your exercise this morning."

"So who're you riding?" Dean wondered, leaning against the stall and crossing his arms.

"Riot," Paige replied, nodding to the all-black stallion tethered farther down the aisle. "He needs to be ridden daily otherwise he goes nuts. Typical stallion." She shrugged and went to move past him, but when he didn't have a snappy retort ready, she paused and glanced at him.

Dean was staring into the middle distance, clearly seeing something that was _not _Daybreak's stall. There were dark circles under his eyes and his complexion was pale under his tan.

She cursed what Noah jokingly called her Mommy Complex, as she felt her resolve to ignore him caving. Steeling herself against her self-aimed irritation she turned towards him. "Hey, are you okay?"

He jerked slightly at her words and finally looked at her. "I'm fine," he said shortly.

"Which is obviously a red flag that you are _not _fine," she returned, putting her free hand on her hip and raising an eyebrow at him. "What happened?"

Dean turned on his heel and walked towards the front of the barn.

"Hey!" she growled, dropping her saddle and hurrying after him. "I'm _talking _to you."

"And I'm not listening," Dean yelled without turning around.

She caught the back of his shirt and _pulled_. "It's not healthy to bottle things up, you know," she told him conversationally.

He immediately went on the defensive. What did she care? What gave her the _right _to butt into his business? "What's it to you?" he growled, rounding on her.

"You have to talk to _someone_."

"And that someone just so happens to be _you_?"

She smiled sweetly and pointedly looked around. "See anyone else? I sure don't."

Dean made a frustrated noise and savagely yanked his shirt free of her grasp. "I don't have to say anything to you," he insisted.

Paige crossed her arms and moved to block his path. "So, what? I can show you weakness, but God forbid if Dean Winchester _actually _talks about what he's thinking and feeling?" she demanded sarcastically, both eyebrows shooting up now.

He stopped trying to move past her and glared down at her instead. So she _did _remember that day in the barn.

His expression must have been easy to read. "Of _course_ I remember," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Hello, that was one of the worst days of my _life _until you…" she trailed off, a faint flush rising up her cheeks. Time to change the subject. "What's bothering you, Dean?"

"Your dad made me talk about my mom, alright?" he exploded, getting in her face. Paige was startled but didn't take a step away from him. "He made me recount in detail what I remember about how she died. Is that _satisfactory _enough for you!/?"

Paige just looked up at him with compassion in her eyes and threw her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. He stiffened in surprise but hesitantly hugged her back, and suddenly, he felt _better_. Like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders and he could stand tall again. They stood like that for a few moments before she released him and stepped back.

"You don't have to be alone all the time, Dean," she said simply, dropping her eyes and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She glanced up at him and smiled quickly before turning and striding back for the barn without a backward glance.

He stood watching her for a long moment, pondering her words as he chewed his lip.

Chris had been watching from the porch with a frown as his sister argued with Dean. His eyebrows shot up at her outward affection when she hugged him―unusual for her, she was far from Winchester's biggest fan―and was swamped with confusion when they parted ways without a word.

It had been nagging at his mind for a while, now… the way she changed subjects whenever he came up, the way they looked at each other when the other wasn't looking.

Very strange.

**/**

Dean had pondered her words the rest of the afternoon. After a subdued dinner with the Newbern family, he helped Mary do the dishes and then went in search of Paige. Her grandma had told him she was usually reading about this time.

He found her in the library, just as Mary had predicted. Her nose was buried in a book and she didn't seem to notice his entrance. He moved more into the library and stood beside the window seat she was curled up in.

For a few moments he just watched her, curled up like a cat with a little half-scowl on her face, utterly engrossed in the world her story created. Whatever was happening, she wasn't much of a fan.

Crouching so that their eyes were on the same level, he waited for him to notice her. His movement had caught her eye, and with a little start she turned her head to meet his gaze. Before she could open her mouth and get all irritated, he cut her off.

"My mom died when I was four," he told her matter-of-factly. "She was killed by a demon, burned to death on the ceiling of my little brother's nursery." Her eyes widened but she didn't look like she wanted to talk anymore. "I saw her there, saw the fire. Sometimes I still have nightmares about it."

Paige understood. She still had nightmares about her mom a lot, or about the helicopter crash: a version where Randy died, or where she was the only survivor, or where she was buried under dirt and suffocated before they could get her out. He wasn't looking at her anymore, his eyes had dropped and focused instead on the edge of the pillow, and for the second time in just a few months she saw the man beneath the cocky exterior.

"I don't like to talk about it," he admitted. "Quite frankly, I don't have a clue why I'm telling you any of this, and I don't feel like I should but something in my mind just wouldn't shut up until I told you the truth." His eyes flashed up to hers again and held her gaze, emotions swirling in their gaze. "You told me today that I didn't have to bear this burden alone. Did you mean that?"

She nodded, offering him a faint smile. Before she could think better of it, she reached out to clasp one of his hands in hers. Dean's fingers tightened around hers and she heard him take another deep breath, amusement sparking back into his eyes.

"Friends this time, Ms. Newbern?" he teased, falling back into their usual rhythm.

Paige grinned. "We can try," she agreed, giving his hand a squeeze. "If you value your life, however, don't ever call me _Ms. Newbern _again. Only Old Bill calls me that, and _only_ when I'm in trouble."

That started a laugh out of Dean, but he was happy for her hesitant friendship, anyway. "Yes, ma'am," he teased solemnly.

Paige smacked him with a slight laugh.

"What are you reading?" he wondered, sitting on the edge of her window seat.

"_Twilight_," she responded, staring down at the book in her hands with scorn. "It has vampires that walk during the daytime, aren't allergic to garlic, can't be killed by silver, have special powers, and the best part is, they_ sparkle_."

"_Sparkle_?" Dean repeated, eyes wide in shock. His expression was so incredulous she had to fight not to laugh. "They _sparkle_?"

"In the sunshine, yes." Paige made a face and shook her head. "Obviously this chick has never actually _met _a vampire before . . . last I heard, Daniel Elkins hunted them to extinction."

"Besides, that's not a vampire," Dean said, shaking his head, still fixated on the sparkle comment.

"Nope, they're gay sparkly fairies!" Paige quipped, grinning widely. His head swung around, eyes meeting hers. Her grin faded.

They stared at each other for a long moment before they both burst into hysterical fits of laughter, giggles in her case. For a long time they laughed, falling into each other and laughing until the tears streaked down their faces and their abdominal muscles ached in protest. Her dad, grandpa, and brother stuck their heads in to see Dean rolling around on the floor clutching his stomach and Paige laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

When their laughter faded, the nineteen (almost twenty) year old and twenty-one-year-old were still chortling softly every now and then, wiping their eyes with the edges of their shirts.

"This book is so bad," she admitted, nudging it with her toe.

"I can imagine," he snorted, feeling better than he had in ages. He'd needed a good laugh really badly.

"Dean, can you promise me something?"

"Maybe," he said, pulling himself into a seated position, looking up at her. "Depends on what you want me to promise."

"Next time you leave . . . at least say goodbye?"

Dean's smile faded. He'd meant to say goodbye all those years ago, he just . . . he'd felt awkward after the barn incident and hadn't known what to say. Being awkward around a girl had never really happened before.

"I'll try," he said softly.

"I never thanked you for comforting me all those years ago," Paige admitted, looking down at her clasped hands.

"You don't have to," he assured her, pulling himself up onto the seat next to her. "We're even now." He threw an arm around her shoulders and she ducked from underneath it. "No?" he teased, waggling his eyebrows.

"Hands to yourself, skippy," she said dryly, tweaking the end of his nose.

"Darn," he sighed dramatically, putting a hand over his heart. "That hurts."

"You'll survive."

"Ouch," he chuckled, leaning back against the cushions.

"Now shut up or get out." Paige smiled to lessen the sting and went back to reading. Dean browsed the shelf until he found a random book that sounded halfway good―this one was called _A Wrinkle in Time_―and plopped down beside her.

"Good book," she commented without looking up.

"Never read it," he shrugged. "Sam liked it, though."

Paige didn't say anything, too engrossed in her book. About an hour later, she glanced up at him and nudged him with her foot to get his attention.

"What?"

"You up for joining the bonfire tonight?"

"Bonfire?" he repeated, one eyebrow lifting.

"Duh, we do it whenever we fell like it. There's a pit in grandpa's backyard. We tell stories, make marshmallows, the whole shebang." Her lips curled into a mocking smile. "Besides, this has to be good for something, as it is clearly not suited for _reading_," she added, waving _Twilight _in the air. "Ripping it apart and lighting it on fire will be the highlight of my night, at this point."

"Sounds fun."

Paige grinned. "It is."

Dean smiled back. "Count me in."

"Good. Now shut up so I can finish this absolutely gay work of fiction."

He rolled his eyes and refrained from pointing out that _she _was the one who kept interrupting _him_.

"Yes, ma'am," he sighed.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Aaaand, the beginning of their real relationship has come and gone. Thoughts?

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
>:D<br>(Press the button? Please?)**


	27. Heirs, Surprises, & You're SO Dead

**A/N: **Sorry this took so long to get out, guys. I got whacked in the skull with a MAJOR case of writer's block, and then stupid FF wouldn't let me post it, otherwise it would have been out last night!

Kudos to CWinchester for the 100th review! You guys ROCK! Extra-long chapter as a thank you present!

**Disclaimer**: Only own the OCs, folks.

/

**Chapter Twenty-Seven  
><strong>Heirs, Surprises, & You're SO Dead  
>(<em>Secondary title<em>: Holy Shit, Noah's Gonna Kill Us)  
>(<em>Third title<em>: Run . . . While You Still Can)

**Thunder Creek, WY  
><strong>April 2, 2000

Dean whistled cheerfully as he strode for the barn, looking for Paige. He'd been gone for a week doing a hunt with his dad―John Newbern pointedly chose to ignore the fact that he was hunting, as he technically wasn't supposed to be, seeing as he hadn't passed the Trials yet―and wanted to discuss some of the finer points of strategy with her.

He'd been doing that a lot lately. When he was in Thunder Creek every other week or so, he spent the majority of his time with her and Chris. Most of that time was still with Paige, however, because Chris was busy with his Brotherhood duties and his pregnant wife, both of which kept him constantly on his toes.

Long story short, he liked talking to her. She alternated between serious and sarcastic, and her facial expressions were very open. In short, most of the time, he could read her like an open book. Most of the time she didn't have to tell him he was being an idiot, she just gave him _that _look, and he usually burst into laughter.

He could see her outside of Storm's stall, where she usually tended to be about eighty five percent of the time. She was predictable in that sense, at least. Walking silently now, he moved up behind her stealthily, reached his hands out to poke her sides, and―

"Why you even bother is beyond me," said Paige dryly without turning around, continuing to run her fingers through Storm's forelock.

Dean sighed and dropped his hands with a pout, moving to lean against the stall facing her. "One of these days, I'll get you," he promised, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Paige rolled her eyes. "Yeah, because you've been _so _successful thus far," she teased back, smiling at him. "I'm telling you, Chris obliterated my scare reflex years ago."

"I maintain the position that eventually, you'll jump," he persisted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"If you say so." Paige gave Storm a final pat and headed for the tack room. He followed, noting that she was in breeches and half-chaps, obviously getting ready to go for a ride. He then fell behind her to admire her anatomy―breeches were ridiculously tight and left little to the imagination. "How was your hunt?"

"Fine," he shrugged, pulling his thoughts from the gutter. "Standard spirit." His lips tilted into a smirk. "Sam also got up close and personal with the finer points of rock salt embedded in his anatomy. Or rather, his ass did."

Paige snorted and pulled down a bridle, slinging it over her arm. "Your brother got shot in the ass with rock salt?" she grinned, sorting through a pile of saddle pads until she settled on a black one and pulled it free.

"My dad shot him, yeah."

"How did that happen?"

"Sammy didn't duck fast enough," Dean shrugged with a broad grin. "He was _still _griping and groaning and whining when I left yesterday."

"I take it the Impala is finally yours, then?"

Dean beamed with pride. "Yep, dad went out and got himself a truck." He sighed mournfully. "He's lost his mind. How he could ever think anything could replace her I will never understand. . ."

Paige rolled her eyes. "You could just marry her, you know, and get it over with," she joked, slinging a saddle over her arm and heading back into the barn.

"Nah. I prefer to keep my options open," he sighed, fluttering his lashes ridiculously and making her laugh. He grinned triumphantly. He loved that laugh, and had no qualms about making a fool out of himself to hear it. "Who are you riding today?"

"Donas," she said, determination flashing in her eyes. "Stay back," she warned as she approached the stall. "He hates people. He'll only let me and my grandpa near him, let alone on his back."

The horse in question was a giant palomino―Dean had long ago been lectured on the different horse colors, compliments of Paige, when she dragged him by the arm through the barn and explained all of them, claiming she was sick of correcting him―who had his ears pinned. Another of her lectures had explained ear positions in relation to horse moods. He usually just shortened it down to "pinned ears = danger, back off". This horse's ears were pinned _flat_, a sign he wasn't the least bit happy.

"Get over it, Donas," Paige said conversationally as she opened the stall and stepped in, slinging the saddle and saddle pad over the stall door. The horse snapped at her. Dean moved forward to help, but stopped when her fist connected with the end of the stallion's nose.

Donas' head shot up, and indignant snort breaking free, but he didn't try to bite her again. The sour expression faded as his ears pricked forward.

"Oh, so _now_ you want to be nice," Paige teased, holding out a carrot as a peace offering. The stallion accepted it daintily and munched on it while she started to quickly groom his coat.

"He's big," Dean commented from across the barn aisle, idly scratching under Chris' horse Admiral's chin. The big gray was starting to fall asleep, his eyelids drooping contentedly. There was a reason Chris affectionately called him Attention Whore.

"Seventeen point two hands," Paige said, as she settled the saddle pad on the stallion's back. Donas' ears immediately pinned, going flat as soon as she hefted the saddle as well. "Don't even think about it, you giant devil," she warned as she started to tighten the girth. Sure enough, Donas' head swung around, teeth bared. Paige waylaid him by smacking him on the neck with a firm no. He tried it again, and she did the same, again, with a firm NO, shoving his head away with one hand.

"He looks fat," Dean observed, tilting his head to one side.

"He puffed out," sighed Paige, dropping her forehead against the Warmblood's shoulder. "Once, Donas. Can you not be a pain in the ass, _just once_?"

Donas had no comment on the matter, ears flicking back and forth as he chewed his mouth in response to her words, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"You think you're so clever," said Paige, rolling her eyes. In a quick movement, she brought her knee up and kneed the horse hard in the side. Donas exhaled, and she cinched the girth up properly. Donas was now favoring her with another sour look.

"Oldest trick in the book, bubba," she told him apologetically, affectionately tugging his forelock. The stallion just snorted, but gave up being a pain in the ass for now.

The bridle he didn't fight her on, or the boots she strapped around his fetlocks. When he was ready, she opened the stall door and led him into the barn aisle, pulling his head down sharply to keep him from attempting to take a bite out of Dean.

"He's got to be the nastiest horse I've ever seen," Dean observed, falling into step beside Paige, a good four feet between them to keep him out of the stallion's biting range.

"There's a reason he was named Donas," she agreed, grinning at him. "It's Gaelic for Devil. My grandma suggested Diablo, but decided his coloring was too light, and settled on Donas instead."

"It fits," Dean said dryly as Paige dodged another attempt to bite her.

"He's mostly bluster," she shrugged, tugging sharply on the reins again. "It's his way of making sure he gets attention. That, and he is a bit ill tempered, too."

"A _bit_?" he repeated dryly, raising an eyebrow.

"Eh, he's not so bad." Paige smiled and reached out to pat the stallion's neck. "When he's cooperating, he's a dream to ride. He's protective, too. Tried to take a piece out of a photographer who came up behind me at the show last weekend, spun me around, and clicked a camera in our faces."

"Don't horses get in trouble for that?"

Paige shrugged. "He shoved a camera in Donas' face and clicked it. The shutter wasn't exactly quiet. Everyone who saw it said the horse was well within his rights to protest the abrupt invasion of his personal space."

He had no further comment as she entered the arena, and he closed the gate behind her and climbed up on the fence. John was in the middle of the arena with his arms crossed.

She swung up onto the stallion's back and gathered her reins. Donas pranced around for a minute before calming down, ears pricked forward at the jumps. Dean just settled in to watch, knowing he could continue this conversation later.

Donas was feisty, bucking no less than eight times as he cantered around the arena, Paige keeping him firmly in check. She had to force him over a jump once, using her crop to tap his neck. After the third time of nearly getting kicked John gave up and came to sit on the fence beside Dean.

"Damn horse is a demon," John muttered darkly, as the stallion in question bucked again and went through the fence instead of over it. "Eventually, he'll calm down, God willing."

A sudden thought struck Dean. "How long would it take to learn how to ride him?" he wondered curiously.

John shot him an incredulous look and laughed in disbelief. "He'd kill you, kid," he advised. "You won't ride him in a million years."

Dean had nothing to say to that . . . but a plan was starting to form in his mind.

* * *

><p><strong>April 20, 2000<strong>

"I'm sorry, you want to do _what_?"

Dean was staring at her like she'd lost her mind, grown three heads, or both. His incredulous expression was so funny she almost laughed, but refrained. This was supposed to be a serious conversation, but he wasn't helping.

"Teach you how to ride a horse," Paige said patiently, ignoring his indignant tone.

"And what makes you think I want to learn how to ride a horse?"

"Tough shit, I'm teaching you anyway," she told him matter-of-factly.

Dean groaned, but didn't argue with her. "This is nuts," he proclaimed, following her through the barn. "I've never ridden a horse in my life, except for that one time I rode with you."

"It's really not that hard," she promised, dragging him to where two horses were waiting. He recognized one as Donas―a little hard not to, the animal was a damn giant―and the other, smaller bay as one of the quarter horses. "I'll be riding Donas. You can ride Cowboy, he's pretty mellow and his gaits aren't too bad."

He immediately picked up on one acute detail. "Uh, Paige?"

"What?"

"Where are the saddles?" he wondered, arching an eyebrow. Cowboy only had a bridle, and Donas had nothing but a halter.

"I've found it's easier to learn how to ride if you take away the crutch of a saddle," she said matter-of-factly, leading the stallion into the arena. He took Cowboy's reins and followed her. "It forces you to learn to move with the horse's movements."

Dean was doing his best not to panic as Cowboy gave him a look suggesting _dude, chill the hell out you're screwing with my mojo_. He snorted at the expression and allowed her to heft him onto the horse's back.

"See?" Paige teased. "Not so bad, right?"

He didn't answer, just shifted a little, trying to relax. The horse was warm, the heat seeping into his legs. It wasn't unpleasant, he supposed, but considering how warm of a day it was he could venture a guess he and the horse would soon be sweaty. He held the reins in clenched fists.

"Relax," she said gently, reaching up to loosen his fingers. He ignored how her skin on his hand made him feel, and how her soft smile warmed his insides. She pried his palm open and gently closed the fingers of his right hand, directing it to rest on his thigh. "You hold them in one hand, like this. Cowboy's a western horse, so he was trained to neck rein. When you pull the reins over so they press the right side of his neck, he steps to the left."

Her hand was grasped around his wrist and pulled his hand towards her, and sure enough, Cowboy calmly sidestepped to the left. She pushed his hand away so the reins touched the left side of his neck, and he sidestepped to the right.

"Pretty easy, right?"

"Sure," he agreed, raising an eyebrow. "Why are you teaching me this?" he wondered curiously, tilting his head slightly to one side.

Paige shrugged. "If you know how to ride, we can go riding together," she said simply. She grinned. "And that way Chris and I can show you the rest of the ranch, the parts you can't get to with a truck."

"Oh," said Dean simply.

"Now, to get him to back up, you pull back." Paige let go of his wrist and motioned for him to do so, and he did, gently. Cowboy immediately started backing up, and stopped as soon as he released the pressure.

"To get him to go forward, tap him gently with your heels."

Obediently, Dean tapped Cowboy's sides gently with his heels, and the horse walked forward, halting when he pulled back on the reins. A grin started to spread across his face. "This isn't as hard as it looks," he realized.

Paige grinned up at him. "Nope," she agreed, winking at him. "It's pretty simple, especially when the horse is as well trained as Cowboy. He's my grandpa's range horse."

"Huh," he said, tapping the gelding with his heels again. He started walking the horse in a wide circle around the arena as he'd seen Chris, Paige, and Ally do numerous times.

She appeared beside him on Donas, her hands on her thighs. It didn't escape his notice that the stallion had no bridle and no saddle, yet was still responding to her commands.

"Dressage horse," she grinned, winking at him. "They're extremely sensitive to leg signals." To prove it, she increased the pressure of her legs ever so slightly and he broke into a smooth trot.

Dean started when Cowboy did the same, fisting a hand in his mane to keep his balance as he grew accustomed to the bouncing motion. He watched what she was doing, and gradually relaxed his lower body. It was immediately more comfortable.

"You're a natural," Paige observed with a smile. He was sitting the trot easily, occasionally getting jarred by the movement, but he was copying what she was doing, minus the no hands.

"Show-off," he accused with a wry grin.

"Hey, I've been doing this since I was, like, three," she defended herself with a grin, giving the signal for a half pass that Donas obeyed. The pair moved diagonally towards the center before going forward again, keeping distance between the two horses so Donas wouldn't get any ideas.

"What was your first horse's name?" he wondered, as they continued their laps around the arena.

"He was a Welsh pony, actually," she confessed, grinning at him. "He was all black and grumpy, so I named him Batman."

Dean laughed outright. "Batman?"

"Oh, yes," she grinned, shaking her head. "I was the gossip of the pony circuit for weeks. Well, I was winning every show, too, so that might have been part of it."

"You weren't kidding when you said you were obsessed with DC comics," he realized, arching a brow.

"Nope," she confessed with a little shrug.

"How old were you?"

"Four."

He just shook his head. Somehow, he didn't have a problem picture his friend, this spitfire young woman, as a little hellion four-year-old daring anyone to tease her or her pony about his name with those blue eyes glinting with defiance.

"Okay, now we're going to try something daring," Paige said, looking over at him. "I want you to let go of his reins, they'll settle on his neck, and keep your hands hovering over his mane. When you feel comfortable, raise your arms out, like this." She lifted her hands from her thighs and spread them so they were parallel to the ground.

"That's insane," he said in disbelief.

"No it's not," she laughed. "Watch." Squeezing her legs again, she made a kissing noise and Donas broke into a canter. She turned him towards one of the three low jumps set up in the dead center of the arena, keeping her arms up. He popped over all three of them, and all she did was grip with her knees and lean forward a bit to keep her balance. She circled him back around and slowed him to a trot beside Cowboy. "See?"

"No way in hell am I doing that," he warned, raising an eyebrow. Taking a deep breath, he let go of the reins anyway and kept his hands over the gelding's black mane. It wasn't much different, he just had to find his center of balance. Deciding to hell with it, he lifted his arms, gripping a little with his legs to keep himself from slipping off. "Hey, this is kind of fun," he grinned.

Cowboy abruptly broke into a canter, and before he knew it, he was in the dirt.

Paige laughed and jumped down beside him, helping him sit up. "You okay?" she questioned, brushing off his back.

"Ouch," he said, rubbing his side as he glared at her, daring her to laugh at him. "What happened?"

"You nudged him with your heels on accident," she explained, biting her lip to contain her smile. "He thought you wanted to canter."

Cowboy walked over and dropped his head down to nudge Dean's head, his expression clearly expressing his confusion. If he could talk, Dean was pretty sure he'd say 'what the heck are you doing down there, idiot, you're supposed to be on my back', complete with exasperated tone and everything. Horses, he'd realized, were quite expressive creatures when they chose to be.

"C'mon, cowboy, get back on him," Paige said as he got to his feet. "You fall off, you get right back on." Before he could protest she'd lifted him back onto the gelding.

"I fail to see the logic in that statement," Dean informed her with a sniff, though his eyes were sparkling with amusement.

"You fall of, you become afraid. To solve that, you just get right back on and keep going."

"I see."

"Besides, nobody can say you're not a rider now," said Paige with a grin, pulling herself back onto Donas' broad back. She got settled and started them walking again. "The philosophy among riders is if you haven't fallen off yet, you're not a rider yet. For someone like me, well. Dirt and I have a love-hate relationship. And while for me, it might be more along the lines of 'hello dirt, it's been a while', that doesn't mean I don't fall off. It's just a part of the territory."

And with that, she started cantering again, and Dean held on as Cowboy followed.

He fell six more times, but didn't really mind. By the end of the day, he felt more comfortable than ever on a horse's back, and could sit a canter with relative ease.

In fact, he didn't even mind her teasing, or the teasing of Chris and the guys for that matter.

* * *

><p><strong>April 30, 2000<strong>

Dean waited for the sounds of the house to cease before he crept out of bed and pulled on jeans and the pair of cowboy boots Chris had given him for his birthday. He crept silently down the stairs, through the back door, and down the porch, jogging to the paddock where he knew Donas had been turned out for the night.

The big stallion watched him as he approached, one ear forward, the other back.

"Hey, boy," she said conversationally as he hopped over the fence and approached him. "I think tonight is the night." Reaching up, he smoothed a hand down the stallion's neck, as Donas did nothing but snort and go back to munching the grass.

Every night for over a week he'd been doing this, starting out with just sitting there in the middle of the grass. Eventually Donas had ended up grazing right next to his knee and hadn't objected when he reached out to run his fingers carefully up the stallion's neck. He'd gradually brought a halter, and led the stallion around. Donas had been annoyed at the break in his usual nightly routine of snacks, but hadn't protested too loudly, all things considered. He was comfortable enough bareback, now, seeing as he'd been riding frequently with Paige, Chris, or Jared, who had already started to turn him into a cowboy of sorts.

Taking a deep breath, he did what he knew was going to piss off the stallion royally―he grabbed his mane in one hand, jumped up, and slid himself into place on the stallion's back.

/

Paige could hardly believe her eyes and rushed onto the porch the next morning, mouth dropping open in shock.

Dean flippin' Winchester was riding Donas around the arena.

_Donas. _

The devil horse.

The very same horse who wouldn't let anybody but her grandpa and herself near him.

It was impossible. It wasn't happening.

And yet, there she stood watching him, with no bridle and no saddle and absolutely nothing to hold onto except for his mane, riding Donas in circles around the arena while the horse obeyed his commands.

"Holy shit," Chris proclaimed in shock from behind her. "Grandpa's going to have a heart attack."

"Why am I going to have a heart attack?" John wondered as he came onto the porch as well, sipping a cup of steaming coffee and reading the newspaper.

Chris shot Paige an amused grin and sipped his own cup of coffee.

"Because Dean Winchester is riding your horse," he said nonchalantly, winking at his sister. Paige rolled her eyes and grinned back, both of them watching their grandpa for his reaction.

"Hmm, that's nice," John commented absently as he skimmed the front page. He was taking a sip of coffee when his grandson's comment registered and he abruptly choked on a scalding sip of the hot liquid and proceeded to spray it all over the sports section. "Wait, what?" he yelped, eyes watering in response to the intense heat as his eyes flew to the arena.

"Dean Winchester," Paige said cheerfully, stealing a sip of Chris' coffee, "in the arena. Riding Donas. You know, your horse?"

"I _know _who my horse is," John barked, glaring at her as he set his coffee on the porch railing and shook his newspaper in an effort to get the liquid off. "That sonuvabitch is _riding my horse_."

"Well, you _did _tell him he wouldn't ever be able to," Chris reminded him cheerfully. He had reminded Dean of that quite a few times in the last couple of months. Frequently, in fact.

John glared at him.

"And obviously, he proved you wrong," Paige added helpfully. It was sort of her job to back up her brother and her friend, after all. She pointed. "There his is, riding the horse you told him he'd never be able to." She grinned. "Has it really been a million years? _Damn_, I feel old…quick, Chris, check me for wrinkles. I couldn't _bear _it if I had wrinkles!"

Chris snorted and swatted her on the shoulder.

John grumbled under his breath and stomped down the porch steps, storming across the lawn towards the arena. Paige and Chris bumped knuckles and watched their grandfather go on the warpath.

"Think we should warn him?" Paige wondered, picking up her grandpa's coffee as it was just sitting there getting cold and lonely. Why waste a perfectly good cup, she reasoned.

Chris thought about it for a moment and looked at her.

"Nah," they said in unison, sipping their coffee at nearly the same moment.

They watched as John jumped up on the arena fence, yelling and waving his arm, while Dean stopped Donas and looked at him defiantly before yelling back.

"I still have no idea how he managed to ride that damn horse," Paige mused, shaking her head.

Chris grinned and shook his head.

"Neither does grandpa."

/

Paige headed towards the arena after she was done taking care of the horses and her grandfather's warpath had cooled to a dull roar, tucking her hands in her pockets as she hopped up on the fence. Dean had flat out refused to leave the arena and Donas hadn't been too keen on going near John, either. The horse was smart enough to see when his life was in danger, at least.

Dean watched her warily, obviously expecting more yelling, and cut her off before she could even open her mouth.

"Look, he told me I couldn't ride this horse, so I did," he said bluntly. "I stayed out here all damn night until he was used to me on his back and got thrown off no less than a dozen times, but he'll let me ride him now and damn if you'll yell at me, too."

She just smiled and hopped off the fence, booted feet sinking into the soft dirt of the arena. She only wished she'd been there to watch the battle of wills―stubborn-as-hell Dean versus the stubborn-as-hell stallion.

"I'm impressed," she said simply. "Donas will tolerate grandpa, and when he's in a _really _good mood he'll tolerate me. People who haven't been around horses usually don't have a chance, especially with a stallion as young, high-spirited and quite frankly, mean, as this one."

"Oh," Dean said, shifting his weight uncomfortably. He peered down at her as she approached, but Donas stayed rooted to the spot, stretching his neck out towards her with his ears pricked forward.

"Hey, buddy," she murmured, reaching out to rub his muzzle. Donas snorted softly and snuffled her hand. "Sorry, no carrots for you today." She stroked his forehead and played with his forelock. "So, cowboy," she said, looking up at Dean, "you going to get off him anytime soon?"

Dean grinned sheepishly. "I would," he said, "except for the fact that it took me a while to figure out how to sit―he's bigger than Cowboy, you know―and now my legs are so sore I can barely bend them."

Paige laughed and reached up towards him. "Come on," she said, motioning for him to get off. "I'll help you back to the house."

"I'll pass," he said, shifting again. "I think I'll walk him to the porch, and _then _get off him."

She shrugged. "C'mon, Donas," she said, clucking her tongue. Donas moved forward immediately, staying at her shoulder as she opened the gate and walked up the path to the house, the horse's hooves clicking on the gravel behind her. When they got near the porch, she turned towards him and put her arms out. Donas stopped with a soft snort, butting his soft muzzle into her chest. She rubbed his forehead obligingly before moving to stand at his shoulder beside Dean's knee. For the first time she noticed how dirty his jeans were. Apparently he hadn't been kidding about being frequently introduced to the dirt.

"Alright, cowboy," she said, motioning him down again. His large, warm hand settled on her shoulder, the other fisted in Donas' mane. "Swing your leg over and slide off." She snagged his waist as he did so, and a good thing, too, as his knees buckled on impact with the ground and he groaned. Loudly.

"Ow," Dean said faintly, as every muscle in his legs quivered and refused to cooperate.

"I hate to say I told you so," Paige began, "but―"

"Yeah, yeah, you told me so," he grumbled, leaning heavily on her as they moved up the stairs.

"Stubborn," she muttered accusingly, glancing up at him through her lashes.

Dean grinned and butted his forehead against the side of her head affectionately. "That'd be me, yeah."

* * *

><p><strong>Dylan, Texas<br>**June 1, 2000

Summer gulped and stared down at the item in shock, unable to erase the image of the tiny little plus sign from her mind. Oh, God, this was bad. She'd been dating Tim for a while now―since he'd kissed her after the football game, actually―and in the spirit of that stupid song _The Call_, she and Tim had let a kiss go a little bit too far.

Sweat broke out on her brow as her head slumped forward. Oh, God. This was bad, bad, bad. Her parents were going to _kill _her. Her breath started to come in short gasps, and she struggled to ignore the tightening in her chest.

"Summer?"

His concerned voice nearly ripped her heart out. She struggled to get herself under control before she opened the door to find him standing there, hair disheveled, face pale. His eyes raked over her face, and she realized with sudden clarity that he looked awful.

"You've been ignoring my calls and avoiding me at school," Tim said bluntly, his chest heaving a little. He'd run past her parents up the stairs, even though they hadn't exactly barred his way. He'd nearly barreled over Kyle in the doorway.

"I . . ." she trailed off, biting her lip as her eyes filled with tears.

"Did I do something?" he said, reaching up to brush his fingers down her cheek. "Since a few weeks ago, I feel like we've been pulling apart, and I know it's my fault. I was so damn stupid, Summer, I shouldn't have let it go that far, and―"

"I didn't exactly stop you," she whispered, choking back a sob.

"Talk to me," he begged, pulling her into his arms and squeezing her tight, dropping his chin to the top of her head. "Tell me what to do to fix this, _please_."

"Tim, there is no fixing this," she whispered brokenly as she dissolved into sobs, burying her face in his chest. As soon as she told him, he would probably leave. He _was _a teenage boy, after all, and babies . . . babies tended to make guys like him run in the other direction.

"Marry me."

Summer stiffened with shock and pulled back a little, staring up at his face. "What?" she choked, eyes wide and rimmed with unshed tears.

"Shit," said Tim, rubbing a hand through his hair tiredly. "I had it all planned out, it was going to be romantic, and . . . oh, hell, screw it. We both know I'm not good with romantic gestures." He released her and sank to one knee, looking up at her face. "I know we're only eighteen, kids still, but you've changed me, Summer. You made me want to be better, you made me want to make myself into a good person . . . it's because of your help that I got my football scholarship to Oregon. I love you so much it makes my chest hurt, and I can't imagine going to Oregon without you. I know you got accepted to, and I don't want to be away from you ever . . . so, Summer Harris, will you do me the honor of being my wife?"

It was too much. She burst into tears, wanting to cry even harder over his bewildered expression as he stood and pulled her back into his arms.

"Okay, okay, we can just pretend this never happened," he said quickly, an edge of panic in his voice. "Just pretend I never came here, oh God, please stop crying baby I hate it when you cry―"

She kissed him just to shut him up, and he obliged her, running his fingers through her hair. "I love you, Tim," she sniffed, hiding her face in the side of his neck. "And I do want to marry you. I just think there's one thing that might change your mind."

"Oh?" he challenged, pulling her closer. "And what might that be?"

Wordlessly, Summer pulled away and went into the bathroom, emerging with the pregnancy test. She shoved it at him, and he stared down at the + sign in bewilderment, his eyes questioning. It had started to dawn on him just _what _he was holding when she explained it to him.

"I'm pregnant," she whispered, her eyes directed on the ground.

For a long moment, he was silent, looking from her to the stick and back again. "Pregnant," he repeated, slowly, rolling the word experimentally on his tongue. She nodded still not looking at him. "So you think a stick you peed on is going to change my mind?"

Surprised, her eyes flew to him, and at any other moment she would have laughed at his completely gob smacked expression. "I . . ." she trailed off, not sure what else to say.

"Granted, I'll be a father a little sooner than I planned, but hell, Summer, I wanted to have kids with you anyway," Tim said, tossing the stick over his shoulder as he took a step towards her, his hands settling on her hips. "This just bumps my plans up a bit, that's all," he told her, voice husky with emotion as she stared up at him. It was her turn to have a completely bewildered expression, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

"You want a baby?"

"I want _our _baby," he corrected, his hazel eyes full of warmth as he kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. "Same as I want you to be my wife. Enough stalling, woman. Do you say yes or no?"

Tears forgotten, Summer threw her arms around his neck and laughed in relief, kissing his cheek. "Yes, Tim, I'll marry you," she whispered in his ear, as he spun her in a circle.

He set her down and cupped her face in his hands, rubbing their noses together. "Now," she whispered, "how exactly do we go about explaining this change in events to your family? We haven't even graduated yet . . ."

Summer's stomach bottomed out. "Oh my God," she breathed in horror, squeezing her eyes shut.

"What?" he breathed back, thumbs rubbing her cheeks.

"Tim," she groaned, opening her eyes to look into his. "You're a dead man."

"I am?"

She nodded. "You remember the tall soldier that came to your football game a few months ago?"

Tim's brow furrowed. "Yeah," she said slowly, pulling up the image. "Huge dude?" He held his hand a half a foot over his head for emphasis. "Hard blue eyes, white blonde hair, arms as big as trees? What about him?"

"That was Noah," she whispered.

He was completely still for a moment, remembering all the stories she'd told him about her 'big brother'. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. She hadn't been kidding.

"Well," he said, making an attempt at amusement, "do you suppose he'll kill me quickly instead of torturing me?"

She just groaned and dropped her forehead to his chest, letting loose a disbelieving laugh.

"Yeah, didn't think so," he sighed. "Well, should we go get my tombstone made?"

"Tim, this isn't funny," she insisted, voice muffled by the fabric of her T-shirt as she hugged him tightly.

"Okay, alright. How about this. I'll go talk to him myself, and we can work this out, okay?"

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<br>**June 3, 2000

Summer's stomach was in knots as the suburban neared Thunder Creek. Tim was silent beside her, his hand rubbing up and down her arm in a comforting fashion, both of them wondering how this little meeting was going to go.

It was Saturday morning and their flight had landed in Denver an hour ago. Chris had been at the airport, generally cheerful and happy to see them as always. Chris' natural state of being was happy these days, especially now that he was about to be a father. He'd ushered them to the car, never questioning once why she'd called this random meeting of the horde.

Her parents had taken it surprisingly well. Apparently her eldest brother had been conceived in high school, and while they weren't thrilled with her and Tim, they weren't pissed either, especially when Summer explained he'd proposed before he knew she was pregnant. She'd asked them to keep it quiet so that she could tell her family in person, as she felt a phone call was a little wooden.

Kyle had, of course, decked Tim in the face, but as soon as he'd shaken his fist out he was okay with it, for the most part. He was now brooding in the back seat, reading over the ever-growing stack of letters his girlfriend Brandi has sent him.

Summer was panicking a little. Noah was not going to take this well, and she doubted Jared and Elliot would take it much better. Her and Tim had decided on a July wedding, specifically, the fourth. Easy to remember, and it was one of their joint favorite holidays.

By the time they made it to Thunder Creek, she was practically hyperventilating.

"Dude, chillax," Chris teased as he closed their doors for them, rolling his eyes. "It's just your _family_, what's got you all tied up in knots?" Laughing, he'd bounded up the steps to grab Dean Winchester in a headlock, spilling the man's soda all over the ground. Summer was not thrilled to see _him _there along with everyone else.

"Damn it, you moron, I was drinking that," Dean wheezed, breaking the hold to elbow him in the chest.

Paige now had soda all over her shirt. "Thanks, Chris," she glared, attempting to wring the fabric out.

"Sorry," Dean and Chris said in unison.

"Summer, Tim, come on," Noah called, waving them forward. He was out of uniform today, home on leave (a rarity these days), and apparently in a good mood. He was in swim trunks, and Summer vaguely realized the rest of the horde was, too.

Oh, right. They got out of school in May.

Summer almost smacked herself, what was she talking about, they'd all _graduated_.

Her panicked brain could barely think straight.

"Okay, so, what's this about?" Chris wondered, leading them into the living room, ignoring Mary's threats from upstairs about getting water on her furniture. "We're dry, grandma, chillax!" he yelled up the stairs.

"_DON'T YOU TELL ME TO _'CHILLAX'_, YOUNG MAN!"_ Mary yelled back, indignant.

Chris just rolled his eyes as the horde plopped down onto the couches.

"We have something to announce," Summer said quietly in the silence that followed, each face looking expectantly at her. Instead of saying it aloud, she held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers.

Chris was the first to make the connection, and promptly looked stunned. "You're getting _married_?" he demanded, sounding winded. "Christ, kid, you're like, eighteen!"

"Married," said Jared, shaking his head as if it wasn't true. "Are you sure? I mean―"

Noise erupted as eighteen voices attempted to yell all over each other.

"QUIET!" Summer yelled, as they looked at her in shock. She took a deep breath. "Let's do this one at a time. Who would like to talk first?"

Noah's hand shot up in the air. She glared at him. "Are you _crazy_?" he bellowed.

More talking, and Summer palmed her face. "NO, I am NOT crazy!" she bellowed back, in Noah's general direction. She yelled again to get their attention. "I am eighteen years old and perfectly capable of making my open decisions. I'm marrying Tim. Get the hell over it!"

Chaos broke out as they all started to argue with each other and with her. Summer joined in without moving.

The two outsiders―Tim and Dean―had their heads bouncing back and forth like they were watching a tennis match. Tim's eyes were wide. Tim looked overwhelmed, but Dean was a little more used to it and nowhere near panic. Was the horde overwhelming? Hell, yeah. But after the first six group meltdowns of epic proportions, he'd kind of gotten used to it. They were a bit of a loud bunch, passionate, he supposed. They voiced their opinions loudly.

Dean's eyebrow was arched, but other than that, he showed no other reaction except idly sipping his soda.

Finally, they'd calmed down marginally, even as their voices kept overlapping.

"I AM MARRYING HIM AND NOTHING YOU SAY IS GOING TO STOP ME!" Summer roared, stomping her foot for emphasis, nostrils flaring as she glared daggers at her impossible family. She took a few deep breaths as they settled down, grumbling now, but no longer yelling. "Now, there's one more thing."

"Here we go," muttered Kyle, getting ready to intercept what he knew was about to happen.

"I'm pregnant."

In the silence that followed, a pin dropping would have been the equivalent of cannon fire.

"You're _what_?" Noah repeated, dangerously quietly.

"Pregnant," Summer said slowly, as if talking to a four year old. Uh-oh. Noah had _that _look in his eye.

"STOP HIM," Dean shouted, his soda dropping to the ground, forgotten. He wasn't fast enough.

Noah was lunging at Tim before anyone else had even registered the movement. His fist slammed into the side of Tim's face, sending him sprawling, clutching his face and his now-bleeding nose.

Dean latched onto one of his arms, Kyle to the other, but it was no use. Noah was dragging them forward, intent on their prey. Chris got up to help, an arm hooked around Noah's shoulders and chest, helping to drag him back, as Summer got between her fiancé and the pack of bloodthirsty animals that had been her brothers thirty seconds before.

"Don't you _dare _touch him!" she yelled at all of them, suddenly thankful for Kyle and Dean and Chris, who were holding off Noah and throwing out limbs to stop the rest of them. "He knocked _me _up, if you want to punch him damn it, GET IN LINE!"

Dean, Chris, and Kyle were struggling and red in the face from the effort of holding Noah back.

"Dude, get the hell out of here," Dean grunted at TIm, as they were pulled forward another foot by Noah. Damn it, the dude was a superhuman. "We can't hold him forever!"

Tim stayed rooted to the spot, looking at the spectacle in front of him. "I profosed afore I knew she 'as pregnant," he said, voice coming out slurred and slightly muffled from his bleeding nose.

Noah growled.

"Noah David Clayborne, if you want to hit him, you'll have to hit _me _first," Summer fumed, their noses only inches apart.

His ice-blue eyes widened. "I would never hit you," he grunted, face getting steadily redder as Chris cut off his airflow.

"Then get over it. You got your punch."

Noah glared at Tim. "Still pissed at him, though," he grumbled darkly.

She smiled at him. "I know," she whispered with a slight smile, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. "And I appreciate your protective alpha male mode, but I can take care of myself, okay?"

Slowly, the giant relaxed, and Summer heaved a sigh of relief.

Crisis averted.

It would seem she could cancel Tim's headstone order, after all.

Noah flexed his arms and shook off Kyle and Dean, glaring sideways at Chris. "Dude, get off me," he grunted, and his expression relieved as well, Chris let go of him. "It's not like I was going to _kill _him," he scoffed.

From the looks on their faces, his sibs didn't exactly believe him.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<br>**June 19, 2000

Ally couldn't keep the grin off her face. Everyone was in town, seeing as Paige's twentieth birthday had been yesterday. Her birthday had been in December, but her dad and Paige had surprised her with a half-birthday present (her birthday was December 11) in the form of a young stallion out of one of the best jumpers currently on the circuit. Her new horse Thunderstruck's sire's name was Cruz, the same sire of Storm, Paige's prized gelding. How Paige had managed to talk her friend Mick O'Connell, owner of Cruz, into parting with the colt was beyond her realm of comprehension.

He was nearly all black, save for a small star on his forehead, and was bigger than War, and younger, too. He was only five, and pretty green, though he'd done well with his first rider on the beginner circuit. He'd been purchased and trained by Paige's friend Mick, a fellow famous show jumper, and was now ready for her level of competition. She suspected the fact that Paige was one of Mick's friends, and also that she'd managed to make a champion out of Mick's stallion's foal, contributed to the fact he'd let Thunderstruck go with firm orders to give the stallion back to him if Ally ever wanted to get rid of him.

It was the best present she'd ever gotten. Suddenly, her own present to Paige―the best jumping saddle money could buy, it had only been released onto the market on the seventeenth and she'd had to go through a lot of hoops to get it, as well as a new top-notch dressage saddle―paled in comparison.

"It wasn't _my_ birthday, you know," said Ally, raising an eyebrow in Paige's direction.

"I know," Paige shrugged. "But ever since War hurt his leg last year, he just hasn't been performing on the same level. I thought you deserved a chance at another champion." Her blue eyes twinkled with amusement. "Besides, Storm and I are going to need _some _competition once we get back out on the show circuit!"

Ally just grinned as her friend walked off. She was excited that her best friend was working Storm back up to competition level. Classes just hadn't been the same without her. She'd been busy in the dressage ring recently with their grandfather's prodigy stallion, Donas.

Some things had changed around here, though. While she'd been home in California, apparently, Dean Winchester had been stopping by Thunder Creek frequently. Summer was convinced he was in love with Paige, though for some reason the famous womanizer seemed more than content to just be her friend.

Jared and Elliot had informed her that Dean was a great guy―he was funny, sarcastic, smart, a great hunter, fiercely loyal, apparently a natural on a horse's back, and extremely protective of those he cared about. She was a little surprised he'd won them all over so quickly, even though she knew he'd won Noah and Chris over a long time ago during that 3-Day Event weekend.

Even Connie seemed to have mildly warmed up to him, though she still made an effort to disappear whenever he appeared. She didn't trust him, she claimed, and seemed even warier of his father. Whenever one of the horde asked her why, she'd start mumbling about demons and her biological father and hell, and then she'd trail off into Latin and usually hurry off to someplace Dean Winchester was not.

It was irritating, but they were used to it by now.

Ally was sipping sparkling cider as she watched Dean approaching Paige.

"Here we go," Summer teased, one eyebrow arching. "Watch how he acts when he's around her."

Paige had turned towards Dean and was smiling. He said something to her, and her grin widened, before she burst out laughing and punched him playfully on the shoulder. Dean just grinned back and held up something they couldn't see. She took it from him, her expression clearly surprised, before abruptly throwing her arms around Dean's waist and hugging him tightly.

Summer's expression was smug as she turned to Ally. "Told you so," she said in a sing-song voice.

"I'm still not convinced," Ally shrugged. "They look like friends to me. His hands aren't even going south."

She just sighed. "Oh, Mophead, sometimes I forget how naïve you are."

Ally snorted. "At least _I_ won't be stupid enough to forget birth control," she said dryly.

Summer glared at her, and Ally's only response was to grin before jumping up and making a run for it, the shorter woman right behind her, yelling for someone to save her from the crazy pregnant lady.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<strong>  
>July 4, 2000<p>

Summer and Tim's wedding had gone off without a hitch. They'd graduated in the second week of June, and on the plus side, none of her brothers had tried to kill Tim again. He'd carried the bruise on his face, compliments of Noah's fist, for almost two weeks.

The couple were blissfully happy, all grins and good cheer. They'd been married at the park in the center of town, in the gazebo, to be precise. The day had been warm and sunny, the place packed with family and friends of the couple, catered by the Newbern family. The reception was in the park, complete with singing and dancing, combined with the annual Fourth of July town party.

It was loud, and boisterous, and some of the men were more than a little drunk, but the horde had gotten over the fact that Summer had gotten knocked up in high school and were happy for their sister slash best friend.

Noah had apologized (Summer all but holding him at gunpoint) for Tim's face, and they were on speaking terms again.

When the fireworks were about to off, Dean dragged Paige onto the dance floor.

"Have you been drinking?" she demanded, arching an eyebrow.

"No," he chuckled, spinning her around and pulling her into his arms. He'd taken off his suit jacket and unbuttoned the top two buttons. His bowtie was gone, his face was shaved, and he looked too damn hot for her piece of mind.

Paige didn't protest, too surprised that he could dance. "Dean Winchester, ballroom dancer," she snorted with a grin.

"Mmm," he winked. "I got some practice. Summer threatened to kill me if I didn't."

"You're afraid of Summer?" she laughed as he twirled her around.

"Always be wary of the tiny people," he joked, as the fireworks exploded above them. The dancers laughed and twirled faster with the music, the women barefoot in the grass. His eyes were filled with a warm glint that made her toes curl.

"Is that so?"

"Yep," he teased, as the music switched to a slower beat, allowing the couples to tilt their heads back and watch the display of lights going on above them.

"So what do I do about tall people then?"

Dean thought about it for a moment, twirling her again just because he'd guessed it irritated her. When he pulled her back into his arms, sure enough, she was glaring at him half-heartedly, smile tugging the corner of her lips.

"If I were you," he said huskily, bending his head to skim his nose along her jawline, stopping at her ear. "I would run while you still can."

When he pulled his head back, she was staring up at him with a mixture of emotions in her gaze.

"Not running?" he teased, arching an eyebrow.

Paige shrugged daintily as they started to move with the music again. "I never was very good at running," she said flippantly, studying him intently.

He had a feeling she'd pretend this conversation had never happened, so his did the daring thing he'd been considering since he'd dragged her out here―he bent and tenderly kissed her on the forehead. He pulled back as her eyes widened, rubbing his nose on hers, bending his head closer. Her eyelids fluttered shut―

"Get a room," Summer teased as Tim twirled by, secure in Tim's arms. Dean jerked his head back and glanced down at Paige, whose eyes were wide as saucers.

Paige stuck her tongue out at her friend, and the moment was broken. They fell back into their easy friendly banter, but all the same, she remembered the feel of his lips on her skin.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<br>**August 2000

"So, this Brotherhood thing," said Dean as he climbed up beside Paige on the fence. He'd been in Thunder Creek on and off for the past few months, and was gearing up to go through the Brotherhood training. He wasn't fazed; at this point, he'd already hunted a lot of what they would be teaching him about, anyway. "How does it work?"

"Can't you see I'm busy?" Paige snapped irritably, not even looking at him.

Dean didn't even bother to sigh. Since the almost-kiss she'd been alternately her usual self and as prickly as a porcupine. He was okay with that―he got just as prickly back.

Her eyes were on Ally, cantering Thunderstruck around the outside of the arena. The big black horse was tense and his ears were half-back. "Take him around again, Ally, but keep your hands light on the reins," she called.

"The training―"

"Shh!" Paige said shortly, leaning forward as Ally cantered Thunder in a circle and pointed him at the first jump.

Dean was seized by the sudden irrational urge to grab her and shake her, just to get her to look at him.

Thunderstruck flew right over the first oxer without a problem, the wall after that with no problem either.

Paige watched intently as Ally set him up for a triple combination―over the first, barely clearing and tapping the top rail of the second, and taking an almighty leap, knocking down two poles on the third as his knees caught the top pole and he stumbled on the landing, nearly unseating Ally in the process. He finished with an annoyed toss of his head, chewing against the bit and pulling his rider's hands all over the place, ears back and nostrils flared, eyes rolling as he sidestepped against the reins as Ally regained her seat.

"Stop, stop, come over here," Paige called, jumping off the fence. She turned to Dean. "I'll explain in a few minutes, okay Dean? Just let me help Ally."

Dean shrugged, shoving down his annoyance, and jumped down off the fence after her. Ally's expression was one of extreme irritation as she watched Paige approach with Dean a few steps behind her.

"I don't know what his problem is," Ally snapped, crossing her arms. Thunder's ears were partially pinned back and he shifted uneasily. "He taps it every single flipping time!"

"Not every time," Paige corrected as she grabbed Thunder's reins. "It's _you _who's making him so off his game."

Ally's mouth dropped open indignantly. Dean almost laughed at her expression. Almost.

"Hear me out," she said quickly before Ally could go into full-scale outraged meltdown. "What happened before the show yesterday?"

That made the younger girl think for a second. "I fought with my dad," she said slowly, frowning as she remembered. "A big one. Lots of shouting, about whether I was going to med school or law school. He threatened to take Thunder away. Thunder was agitated. I don't think he liked the noise."

"And how did that make you feel?"

"The fight? Angry," Ally said instantly. "Angry and afraid and upset." Realization dawned as her shoulders slumped. "I didn't even realize," she muttered.

"Here, get off, and I'll show you what you're doing wrong," Paige said, pulling the reins over Thunder's head. Ally dismounted and walked beside her, giving Dean a small smile. They walked towards the triple combination. "You've got the stride count off. Way off. He's a lot bigger than War, his strides are longer. Your stride count was off for the second jump, that's why he tapped it, and by the third he was so far off there was no way he could clear it. He tried, Ally, he really did. That's why he went up so high. He was overcompensating and trying to clear it to make you happy, but you gave him too little space and he just couldn't do it."

Ally pursed her lips and nodded.

"Your hands are too tight on the reins. Thunder's sensitive, really well trained, your dad made sure of that before he bought him for you. Well, before I talked him into buying him for you. You know that, you're a better rider than I am," she ignored Ally's disbelieving snort, "and have the potential to go farther. But you were mad, still are mad, I think, and that transfers even though you don't mean it to. You clench your hands, and it pulls on his mouth and confuses him. That's why you lost yesterday."

Ally sighed. "I'm not very used to him yet, either," she grumbled. He was a very different horse from War, and she'd had her old show companion since she was a young child.

"Watch," Paige sighed, mounting the tall horse with a leg-up from Ally. She buckled her helmet, adjusted her stirrups, and gathered her reins.

"What's she doing?" Dean wondered, squinting against the sun.

"Proving a point," Ally muttered, crossing her arms as she watched Paige softly talking her horse. One ear was turned back towards her as he cantered smoothly around the arena. She could _see _him visibly relaxing, responding to the light signals by Paige's legs and hands. He was listening to her every command.

It was fun to watch, Dean mused. She looked so small on top of the big animal, and she was only a few inches shorter than him. He'd never taken the time to notice how graceful horses were, how nice it was to watch a rider and horse moving as one unit.

Paige was unused to a canter like Thunder's, but wasn't uncomfortable with it. It only took a few laps around the arena to get used to it enough to be able to jump, as she learned the horse's stride and got him on the bit. She could see Dean and Ally standing beside the triple combination, and ignored them, focusing on the course. She'd jumped this a hundred times with Storm. It wouldn't be any different with Thunder, even if Thunder _was _a little green.

Thunder sailed smoothly over the first fence, an oxer, and over the second and third as well. She turned him sharply and extended his stride, and over the wall he went without a hitch, feet tucked up neatly underneath him. Paige was focused in on the next fence before he'd even cleared the last, her tan breeches a sharp contrast against the black saddle, perfectly balanced over his withers. They jumped a Liverpool next―a little pool of water beneath a vertical―and then it was time for the triple combination.

Paige shortened his stride a bit as she judged the distance to the first, a vertical. Three strides. After that, the first oxer, two strides between it and the vertical, and one stride to get over the final oxer.

"C'mon, Thunder," she murmured, as he gathered himself and jumped the vertical. One stride, two strides, and he was over the first oxer, and with a light command from Paige lengthened his stride. Over the third he went, landing smoothly on the other side. She turned him again to go over another vertical, before slowing him to a trot and returning to the center of the arena where Ally and Dean were still standing.

She halted Thunder and clapped him on the neck, the grin spreading across her face unheeded. "Riding this big guy, you'll be a force to be reckoned with," Paige mused with a grin. "He jumps like a _dream_." She took her feet out of the stirrups and dismounted. "Did you see the difference?"

"He was less tense," Ally sighed, taking the reins. "And I had the stride count off. I tried to extend him to one between the vertical and the triple oxer, and two between the triple oxer and the double oxer, when the strides should have been the other way around."

"Exactly," Paige smiled. "So he barely cleared the triple oxer, and tried his best to clear the double." She rubbed Thunder's neck. "Stride count is huge, Al, especially when you're in the upper levels. If you have no distance relation, you'll lose every time. Thunder will do most of the work, you just have to guide him over the fences."

"I know," Ally sighed, rubbing Thunder's forehead.

"But," she continued, "the fact that he _could _clear that triple oxer by sheer athletic ability says a lot. This is a _really_ talented horse, Ally. Storm would have had trouble clearing that fence in the same situation, and he was voted Best Junior Event Horse of the Year seven years in a row." Her fingers fiddled with the big stallion' mane. "If you really wanted to, you could take him all the way to the top."

Ally's smile brightened at that.

"Now come on. Get up and do it again, _properly_ this time. Take him around one more time, and then cool him down. Tomorrow we'll set up a new course and go at it again, going back to basic stride counts."

Paige gave Ally a leg up and moved towards the outside of the arena, watching with a critical eye as her friend rode the big black Warmblood around her. She had the stopwatch in her hand.

"Alright, Al, this is for time. Show me what you've got," she called as she and Dean moved back to the fence and dropped down on the outside, so as to not distract Thunder.

"When does she start?" Dean wondered.

Ally was at the gate of the arena and moving Thunder in a circle.

"Now," Paige said as Ally passed over the imaginary start point.

Ally's expression was intensely focused as her and Thunder flew over the course, the big black making almost impossibly tight turns with relative ease. They encountered a bit of trouble with the triple combination, but the tapped pole didn't fall, and the horse and rider team continued on with the course.

Dean watched with interest. He could remember a long time ago, when the girl he was watching now explained to him the basics of a showjumping competition. It seemed unreal that he was back here, watching that same little girl―now a young woman―training for something way higher than local horse shows.

Paige clicked the stopwatch as Ally and Thunder crossed the imaginary finish line, cheering as she jumped up on the fence. "66.13," she called. "That's _fantastic_, Ally! Only a bit off the winning time from the last show, and that's after we worked him for a half an hour." She was beaming as Ally trotted Thunder up to the fence and halted, grinning at her best friend/riding coach.

"I am _so _kicking Anna Grayson's ass," said Ally smugly. "We'll see who Noah pays attention to _then_. Not Whitney, I can guarantee you that."

"Anna Grayson is a knat, and her sister is a bitch," Paige said, rolling her eyes with a grin as she reached forward to stroke Thunder's muzzle. "They both bug the hell out of Noah."

"She's always hanging all over him."

"Anna or Whitney?"

Ally thought about it for a second and grinned. "Both," she proclaimed.

"Yeah, well, she's just jealous because he loves us and not them."

"Which one?" Ally teased.

Paige grinned. "Both," she decided, winking. "And besides…we kick their asses in horse shows, anyway."

Dean shook his head. "You horse people are weird," he commented teasingly. His eyebrows lowered and waggled his eyebrows teasingly. "And anyway, doesn't the _horse_ do most of the work?"

To which he received the Epic Duo-Death Glare from two very pissed off horseback riders.

/

"So," Dean said. Ally was now riding a _different _horse around the arena while Paige watched. "This training thing for the Brotherhood."

"What about it?" Paige wondered, scratching an itch on her chin as Ally worked War over cross poles. The horse, her competition horse until she'd turned fifteen, was getting on in years and had been retired from the show circuit, but was still being used for lessons. Ally made a point to ride him at least five times a week―he was still her best friend, after all. It had taken John a week to talk her into letting a little girl in town lease him.

"How does it work?" Dean pressed.

"The Conclave sets up training sessions," she shrugged. "It lasts four to six weeks, depending on weather and how many people are available to train the new recruits."

"Have you done it yet?"

"Yeah, passed it before I went to boot camp." Paige shrugged. "It's usually Conclave members that train, though a few of the upcoming Conclave members were there."

"What do you mean?"

"The Conclave is in charge. They do all the logistical stuff, coordinate big hunts, train the new guys, all of that fun stuff and whatnot. Sometimes they get to be old farts and retire. Summer's father David replaced the last guy." Paige shifted so she was straddling the fence facing him, making it easier to talk. "Sometimes there are certain people they want to take over one day, like my dad, and Noah's dad, because they've hunted pretty much everything you can and know a shit-ton about hunting. There are a few others, too, a random guy from Texas, Noah, one of my cousins, and some other random relative of Bobby's, I think. But that's beside the point."

"So what kind of training is it?"

Paige shrugged. "Depends on who's running it. It's basically a crash course in all things supernatural for the new guys…the kind of training your dad would have benefited from instead of going into it head-first and nearly getting himself killed. As for the training, it includes protection, survival, how to fight certain types of monsters, hand-to-hand combat, weapons, that kind of thing. You'll be fine."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Don't roll your eyes," she warned with a slight smile, gently flicking his forehead. "It's going to be a lot harder than you think, and you're going to learn a lot of shit you never knew before. Trust me on that one."

"If you say so," Dean chuckled. "Still sounds like a pansy-ass boot camp to me."

/

Dean emerged from the house around sunset, having just finished a lengthy discussion with John Newbern about his dad. He felt torn between two loyalties and started walking to the jumping ring out of pure habit at this point. A familiar dapple grey gelding was soaring over the jumps.

He hadn't seen her ride Storm since he'd come back, and hurried to watch, leaning on the fence as she cantered past, focused wholly on the jumps.

"Fun to watch, isn't it," Chris mused from beside him, leaning on the fence as well.

"They're graceful," Dean shrugged as Storm launched himself powerfully over a jump.

"They are," he mused. "Sure is good to see the dream team back in action. Ally showed him a bit while Paige was in the army, but it just wasn't the same. His heart wasn't in it."

"Yeah?"

"Ally isn't Paige," Chris grinned, shrugging.

"True," Dean shrugged back.

"I'll show you the videos sometime," he promised. "Even someone as green as you when it comes to this stuff can see the difference."

Dean made a noncommittal noise and leaned heavier on the fence, watching the almost hypnotic movements of the horse and rider team.

When asked later, he couldn't have said what exactly went wrong.

One minute, they were moving fine. The next, Storm took off, catching the pole between his legs, stumbling badly. Paige was thrown forward, up his neck, her feet completely out of the stirrups as the gelding fell to his knees and attempted to control his fall, back feet scrabbling in the sand. Paige was thrown free completely, hands still on the reins. They hit the dirt with an audible thud, Paige rolling from the impact. Storm got quickly to his feet.

"Oh shit," Chris yelled, "Paige! Don't move!"

Chris and Dean were over the fence in the same instant, racing across the sand for her prone form, groaning on the ground. Storm was prancing a few feet away, reins dangling and the whites of his eyes flashing, snorting and tossing his head.

Dean landed on his knees beside her first, bending over her to look her in the face. "You okay?" he questioned, their noses nearly touching.

Paige turned her head slightly and coughed, letting loose a pained groan. "Ow," she mumbled, blinking the dirt out of her eyes. "I'm fine, just bruised," she promised them both. Chris had been moving her legs carefully and checking for a spine injury. "He didn't land on me. Help me up."

They did, Dean keeping an arm around her waist. "That looked like it hurt," he teased in an effort to calm his own pounding heart.

"Yeah well," Paige shrugged, glaring at the dirt before glancing up at him. "Remember what I said about 'hey dirt, it's been a while'? This was one of those moments."

Despite the utter terror he'd experienced not a minute earlier, he found himself chuckling. "Well, Ms. Newbern, I'd say that was one of the most epic faceplants in the history of wipeouts."

"Not quite the _most _epic," Paige corrected. "Chris had a more epic one, didn't you Chris?"

Chris glared at her and shook his head. "I'm never going to live that one down, am I?"

Paige ignored him and hurried to her gelding, grabbing his reins. "Hey, bud," she soothed him. "That was my fault, huh? Judged the distance wrong." She ran a soothing hand down his neck, and the gelding started to calm. She took a moment to brush the sand off her knees before bending and carefully feeling and moving his legs around, checking for injury or heat. "His legs feel fine."

"Good," said Chris with a sigh of relief. "Now come on, up you get. Can't let you or him get afraid of it."

She just rolled her eyes but allowed herself to be boosted back into his saddle, and within a few minutes, she and Storm were back to soaring over fences.

"Have I ever mentioned how crazy you people are?" Dean wondered.

"Once or twice," Chris said, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You people fall from crazy heights, going ridiculous speeds, almost getting squashed like a pancake underneath an animal that ways ten times what you do, and then you smile, brush yourself off, and go right back to doing what almost just got you killed."

Chris nodded. "Pretty much, yeah," he shrugged.

"Like I said: crazy."

"Is it any more crazy than our other job? Come on, Dean. We travel around the U.S. hunting monsters and setting stuff on fire. That's about as crazy as it _gets_."

Dean grinned. "Touché."

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<br>**August 31, 2000

Paige fought back a laugh as she ran up the stairs towards the room Dean usually stayed in when he was here. "Dean," she called, rapping on the door. He didn't answer, and she rolled her eyes. "You better not be in the shower," she warned as she opened the door, holding back another laugh over the thought of the story she wanted to tell him.

His room was unusually quiet, and his bed was made up. That was weird. Usually he didn't leave unless…

Her eyes fell on the chest at the end of his bed. Dread settled in her stomach as she noticed the closet was empty and his personal possessions were missing. Her heart sank as she took two wooden steps forward, picking up the envelopes at the end of the bed.

One, addressed to her dad and grandpa, the other . . . to her.

Tears burned in her eyes as the betrayal set in. She took a deep breath and stormed out of Dean's room, wordlessly shoving the letter at her startled grandfather, who nearly spilled his coffee down his shirt due to the force of her action.

"Sweetheart?" he questioned, as she stormed away from him and down the stairs. "Honey, wait!"

Paige ignored him, and stuffed the letter in her jeans pocket, going straight to Storm's stall. The gelding snorted softly as she entered, merely watching as she gathered up all his equipment and tacked him up, marching straight out of the barn towards the open fields.

A good gallop would clear her head, and besides . . .

Storm was the only one who'd never betrayed her.

"He broke his promise, Storm," she whispered, running her fingers through the gelding's mane as she climbed up the fence and used it as a mounting block. "He left without saying goodbye."

And then it was just her and her gelding, galloping through the fields.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<br>**October 28, 2000

The dream was pleasant to begin with. She was running through the fields after her sibs, only Dean was there too, and the sun was bright and warm…they were laughing, spinning around each other, for some reason dressed in all white, moving through the flowers and butterflies. She couldn't think of any other time she'd actually dreamed of freakin' _butterflies_. And then, abruptly, the ground opened up and everything started to shake. Noah was yelling her name frantically, the shaking getting worse, and―

"PAIGE!"

Paige flew upright, chest heaving, sweat dripping down her face. It took her all of a half a second to realize the shaking was because Noah had the end of her bed in a death grip and was shaking it frantically. His complexion was as pale as death.

"What?" she snapped back irritably, vigorously rubbing her face in an attempt to focus.

Noah said nothing; instead, he seized her wrist, physically hauled her out of bed, and threw her over her shoulder before she had a chance to react.

"NOAH DAVID CLAYBORNE!" she bellowed, pounding his back with her fists. "PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW YOU GODDAMN NEANDERTHAL WHAT THE _HELL _HAS GOTTEN INTO YO―oof!"

The wind was knocked out of her as he bolted down the stairs, his shoulder slamming into her sternum and leaving her gasping by the time he made it to the bottom, dumped her unceremoniously in a kitchen chair, and ran back up the stairs.

"What the _hell _is going on?" she wheezed angrily, clutching her abused anatomy, glaring around the kitchen at her family who had apparently been likewise manhandled and were equally irritated.

"Gonna _kill _him," Kyle gasped, rubbing his chest as well.

"Has he gone mad?" Elliot wondered, coughing as the air was forced back into his lungs.

"Gone mad? Hell, he _is _mad," Paige bit back, as Theo was shoved into the kitchen with a startled yelp and landed in an undignified heap on the ground.

"The HELL?" he demanded, the volume ruined as his voice immediately switched to a wheeze. He glanced around the kitchen, pulling himself to his feet, and shakily made his way over to sit beside Paige. Chris appeared, dumping Jared unceremoniously on the ground.

"Oh, great," Elliot deadpanned, having re-gained his breath. "Chris has joined him."

"Can anyone explain?" Jared wondered.

"No," everyone in the kitchen chorused.

"Lovely," Jared muttered.

"Peachy," Paige agreed dryly.

When the horde was likewise assembled, they were all but herded out the front door.

"What the hell is going on?" Paige shouted over the clamor of irritated shouting, shoving, tripping, cursing, and general chaos.

"Amy's going into labor," Chris said finally, continuing to herd them to the car, his wife in front of him.

That prompted a whole new round of chaos as each man tried to help Chris lift her into the car.

"I'm in labor not dying, get off me!" Amy snapped, shoving a few of them away. Paige ducked through the mass of bodies, putting an arm around her sister-in-law's waist.

"Well, finally decided to pop, huh?" she teased light-heartedly.

"Bite me," Amy bit back, but she grinned. "He decided he was going to come, and by God, he's coming."

By some miracle―in Paige's opinion it was likely divine intervention―they all got into the car and made it to the hospital. The nurses weren't sure what to do when faced with the onslaught of half-dressed males that were fluttering about like concerned mother hens. Paige and Connie eventually had to physically pull them back so Amy could actually get to a room and forego giving birth in the waiting room.

Paige felt a little bad for the hospital staff. By the time word got out, half the town―the half the Newberns were related to―had poured into the waiting room and were either chatting softly with neighbors or sleeping on whoever was sitting next to them. Amy's parents had arrived and rushed back, as had Brad and Debbie. She was now keeping watch over her three younger siblings and alternately dozing on Jared's shoulder and the back of the chair.

Midnight came and went, and they were still there. At three in the morning, Chris came hurrying through the door in scrubs with a joyful smile on his face, making a beeline for her.

"It's a boy!" he announced to the room at large, scooping her up and spinning her around. "Eight pounds, six ounces, twenty and a half inches, and perfectly healthy!"

Cheers arose as everyone congratulated him.

"Come on, you have to meet him!" Chris said excitedly, dragging her by the hand towards the nursery. He pointed him out, and Paige felt a smile of wonder curl her lips. Her nephew was small, with a tuft of brown hair, sleeping peacefully.

"Oh, Chris, he's beautiful," she breathed, leaning her nose against the window.

"We named him John Bradley, after grandpa and dad both," Chris explained, putting his arm around her shoulders. He bent to kiss the top of her head. "I've got an exhausted wife to praise, come on."

She found herself wishing Dean was there too and viciously shoved that thought down.

Paige followed, her heart swelling with happiness for her brother and sister-in-law.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Whew! 14k words so y'all can't complain too much that it took me so long to post!

On a side note, everything is NOT well in paradise . . . there's some hurting going on at the moment between our favorite couple, and it won't be an easy fix.

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
>:D<strong>


	28. Mending Bridges

**A/N**: Hey, guys. College kicking me in the butt big time. It sucks. Trying to get these out ASAP.

Didn't have much time to edit this, so sorry if there's mistakes. Feel free to point them out in reviews or through PMs if you find any, and I'm sure there's plenty.

**Disclaimer**: Only own the OCs. Had a friend point out earlier that there is a Noah Clayborne in the Julie Garwood Buchanan brother series. Other than the fact they have the same name (I like the name Noah and the last name Clayborne is cool) and that in her series he's also an FBI agent, they're nothing alike and my Noah's not based off of him at all. So, yeah. Don't sue me? O.o

* * *

><p><em>So far away from where you are  these miles have torn us worlds apart / and I miss you / yeah I miss you / and I wish you were here  
>"From Where You Are", Lifehouse<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Eight<br>**Mending Bridges

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming  
><strong>October 31, 2000

A rapping noise made Paige look up from her notes irritably.

Connie stood in the doorway, half-smile on her face. "Hey, Mopey," she greeted her friend, strolling into the room and closing the door behind her.

"Mopey?" Paige repeated, raising an eyebrow.

She simply shrugged, still smirking, and pulled the chair from Paige's desk over, straddling it and resting her arms across the top. "Since Winchester vanished, you've been Mopey," she explained patiently, as if talking to a three year old.

"I'm busy, Con," sighed Paige, going back to her writing, frowning at them intently as she made notes in her journal. She pointedly ignored the flash of emotion that flared in her every time Dean's name was mentioned.

"So, oh mighty hunter, how does it feel now that you're free of the probationary period, and free of Elliot for good?"

"Fine," she replied absently.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking notes," Paige retorted, rolling her eyes at her friend.

"About what?"

"Grandpa wants me to help with the Trials. I'm coming up with hunting ideas for the final test, as well as hand-to-hand combat training schedules."

"Oh, goody. You're going to be one of the instructors?" Connie sighed, plopping her chin down on her wrist.

"Yep," Paige responded without looking up. "And before you say it, yes, I know, you'll kick my ass."

Connie closed her mouth and grinned, reaching out for the papers. Paige pulled them away and tucked them together, setting them behind her, out of Connie's reach.

"You're no fun," she sighed.

"You'll know what the plan is when I tell you, squirt, and not a minute before."

Connie was incredulous. "Did you just call me _squirt_?"

"I've always called you squirt," Paige pointed out.

"You _are_ aware I'm taller than you, right?" Connie questioned dryly, raising an eyebrow.

"By an _inch_," said Paige, shooting her a glare. This was by no means a new argument between them.

"An inch that makes me taller than you."

"Yes, so you've said," she sighed, rolling her eyes again. "Is there anything in particular you want to talk about, Con, or are you just in here to irritate me?"

"Irritating you is fun," Connie shrugged, smirking again. "But for once, I actually _do _have something to talk to you about."

Paige sighed and closed her journal, setting it behind her as well. "I'm listening," she promised, perching her elbow on her knee and her chin on her palm.

"We need to have a little, uh, _chat_, about the things I can do."

"You mean besides your inherent ability to drive a man to drink?" she sniggered, pleased with her jibe. When Connie didn't respond, she grew serious.

Connie glared at her.

She held her hands up. "Okay, alright, bad timing," she sighed, waving her hand absently. "Continue."

"You've known for a while that I'm not exactly _normal_," Connie began, staring down her nose at the floor. "I'll be your hunting partner, and I think it's only fair that you know all of this ahead of time." She sighed heavily. "Since we were kids, weird things have happened around me, and you and the rest of the horde got so used to it that they just didn't notice anymore.

"My birth wasn't exactly normal. I wasn't technically conceived, Paige. I was _made_." Connie lifted her eyes to meet Paige's wide blue ones, before dropping her gaze back to the floor. "My mother was possessed by a demon. I'm not sure exactly how it happened but I ended up retaining that. When I was born, my eyes were solid black, like a demon's." Her voice trailed off into a whisper as she finished.

Paige felt her eyes widen further, but remained silent, waiting for Connie to finish her explanation.

"They faded to dark blue soon after I was born," she continued in an even monotone. "My dad knew that something wasn't right. There was unusual demonic activity, so he and my mom snuck out of the hospital with me and drove straight here, for Thunder Creek. I stayed here until I was two, and they moved back to California, to be close to your family. We were at your house that night, Paige."

Her blood turned to ice at Connie's words. "What do you mean?" she murmured.

"When you guys were attacked by that poltergeist . . . when Chris got his arm broken, when you got all slashed up, when your mom lost your little brother and almost lost Jillian. It was because of _me_, it was because _I _was there."

"Connie, that's hardly your fault," Paige said forcefully. "And you don―"

"The Yellow-Eyed Demon created me, Paige. He wanted me from the day I was born, probably to kill me. The power I have, it's not . . . it's not natural. I can set fires with my mind, for Satan's sake. They were trying to create someone, some_thing _extremely powerful, something that could take down Heaven itself, theoretically of course. The only problem was, I was born a girl instead of a boy."

Paige chewed on that for a few minutes as uncharacteristic silence fell. "Connie," she said slowly, "are you trying to tell me that you're the _female _version of the freakin' _antichrist_?"

Connie met her eyes and nodded.

She was stunned. Absolutely flabbergasted. "Holy shit."

"Shit, yes. Holy, not so much." Connie's lips twisted into a wry smile.

"You set fire with your mind."

"I can do other stuff, too."

"What else?"

"I can teleport, for one," Connie shrugged.

"Teleport?"

"Yep."

Paige's eyes narrowed. "Prove it," she challenged.

Rolling her eyes, Connie's expression changed to one of intense concentration, and with a very faint _pop_, she appeared on the other side of the room in Paige's window seat. A second later, she was back in the chair. She _almost _laughed at Paige's incredulous expression, but was too nervous by what her reaction would be.

"That is _so cool_," Paige exclaimed, with a huge grin. "Can you go anywhere?"

"Yeah, just not through time." She paused, giving her friend a searching look. "Are you mad?"

Paige's head tiled to one side, her expression now curious. "Why would I be mad?"

"I lied to you for pretty much our entire lives," she reminded her.

She shrugged. "The Conclave is obsessed with their secrets," she said flippantly, flapping her hand dismissively. "I figured there was something, I saw a note in my dad's journal before he shut it a few years ago. I just knew better than to ask." She shrugged. "You get used to it, and hell, two of my immediate family members are in the Conclave. I've lived with it my entire life."

"You're crazy," Connie said, astonished. "No yelling? No throwing? No nothing, just . . . just _acceptance_?"

"Well . . . yeah. What did you expect, a witch hunt?"

"You're not weirded out." It was a statement, not a question.

Paige rolled her eyes again; Connie still looked openly astonished. "I'm plenty weireded out," she corrected. "However, I've known you for practically forever, and to be honest, we grew up knowing about demons and monsters. This is just a part of being in this life."

/

Paige stood silently beside David Harris, watching Connie's image on the screen combating the mock schritga. They stood observing the screen with great intensity, watching her every move.

David took notes as they observed her planning and execution process. So far, she was in the green.

"I assume she has made you aware," said David without looking at the young woman standing beside him at rigid parade rest.

"She has," Paige replied without looking at him.

"You have already been assigned as her hunting partner."

* * *

><p><strong>Paige &amp; Connie's Thunder Creek Apartment<br>**November 4, 2000

"You can do _what_?" Paige exclaimed, pulling the phone away from her ear to stare at it as if it was some kind of poisonous animal. And to check if she was imagining Connie's voice. Neither was true; reluctantly, she returned the phone to her ear and asked Connie to repeat her sentence. Again.

Here she was, enjoying a nice night alone in her apartment in Thunder Creek, watching _The Lion King _for old time's sake and eating a bowl of popcorn. Her hunting partner had vanished to God only knew where (literally, as Connie could be in Antarctica for all she knew), when the hunting partner and roommate in question had decided to bother her with a phone call at one fifteen in the morning.

Go figure.

Connie was Connie, after all.

"_I can _fly_," _Connie insisted excitedly. "_Well, not actually _fly_…it's more like floating, or rather, concentrated telepathy that lifts me off the ground and__―__"_

"Fly," she cut her friend off, the shock clearly audible in her voice. "You can _fly_."

"_Yes, fly_," she repeated impatiently. "_Or, you know, float. Whatever_."

"Are you sure you're human?"

"_Ha ha, very funny, Newbern_." Connie's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"What can I say, I'm hilarious," Paige deadpanned, and Connie snorted.

"_So, you wanna see?"_

Paige didn't even have a chance to open her mouth and reply before Connie was standing in front of her and the dial tone was all but yelling in her ear. She put the phone down, crossed her arms, and lifted an eyebrow at one of her best friends slash sister.

Connie waggled her eyebrows and smirked, before her expression abruptly became serious. She closed her eyes, spread her hands out at her sides, and literally levitated off the floor.

"Oh my God, you can _fly_," Paige gasped, eyes popping wide.

With a thump, Connie fell the six inches back to the ground, looking disgruntled. "Well, of _course_ I can. I said so, didn't I? What, did you think I was lying?" She cocked a sardonic brow to which Paige just rolled her eyes. "And on a side note, I don't think God has anything to do with this."

"Popcorn?" Paige held out the bowl, shrugging in response to Connie's last comment.

"Ooh, _The Lion King_! We haven't watched this in ages," Connie grinned, plopping beside her on the couch. "You know, I've always drawn parallels between _The Lion King _and _Star Wars _but now I'm starting to think I was high on sugar or something, because I'm not seeing it―oof!"

A sound pillow whacking her in the face had cut off Connie mid-sentence.

"You were babbling," Paige said simply to excuse the fact she'd just launched a projectile at her friend. A soft, square-shaped projectile with a weird button thing on it, but a projectile none the less.

"Sorry, I haven't slept in a while. I think I'm high on sugar, I got an extra-large coffee in Florida this morning, and all I had time to eat in Massachusetts was a donut…"

Paige just stared at her.

"Well, yay for you and your high metabolism," she snorted, tossing a popcorn kernel at her. "I ate that much it'd go straight to my ass and my thighs."

Connie beamed. "It takes _massive_ amounts of energy to be this awesome."

Paige snorted. "You're obnoxious."

"And _you're _a prude."

"Am not!"

"Are too," Connie countered, eyes twinkling.

"Oh, for God's sake, just shut up, eat the popcorn, and watch the damn movie."

Connie managed to do that for precisely eleven minutes and twenty-four and a half seconds, and yeah, she'd calculated. Her mind was weird like that.

"So, what other hunts will grandpa dearest send us on?" Connie wondered idly, bouncing her knee up and down unconsciously. She ignored the exasperated look Paige shot her and instead watched Rafiki whack Simba over the head with his stick. It brought back several painful memories of Mary, a spatula or a ladle, and her own head. "I really don't want to see his face when he figures out I've been teleporting you around the country fighting monsters and setting shit on fire…"

"It's grandpa, Con. He probably already knows."

"True," Connie admitted, slipping her hand into her pocket to finger the solid iron bracelet she'd tucked safely there. Anytime she was outside of Thunder Creek and not in need of her immediate abilities, she used it. Only Paige knew that, and probably John too because hell, he pretty much did know everything. Devious old bastard, that one…

"And if he doesn't know, well, what he doesn't know won't hurt him, now will it?" Paige smirked, stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

"I suppose," Connie shrugged, taking a handful herself. "You think I should tell the rest of the horde? You know, about the whole demon blood thing?"

Paige felt around for the remote and paused the movie, turning to face her friend, hugging a pillow to her chest. "Do you want to tell them?" she inquired, head cocking slightly to one side.

Connie observed the red and orange light from the TV screen was casting one half of her face in shadow, the lighted half appearing far more orange than usual when added to her tan. "I guess so," she fidgeted, bouncing her knee again.

"But you're worried that they'll get mad at you, reject you, for what you can do," she added.

This was why her and Paige worked well together―they could practically read each other's minds.

"Well, yeah, I mean, you've _met _our sibs…"

Paige sighed and picked at a thread on the pillow. "I don't think they'll reject you," she said slowly. "Maybe they will at first, I don't know, but they'll get over it. We're a family. They love you no matter what."

"Even if I can set fires with my mind?" Connie teased, smirking and arching an eyebrow.

"Well, that certainly hasn't affected them thus far," Paige pointed out with a smirk. "They just improvised by carrying buckets around with them all the time."

"And the telekinesis?"

"I was under the assumption that was how you can set fire with your mind. Wait, is there some other way―?"

"How about the teleporting," Connie continued, ignoring her partner. "Or the whole I-can-turn-invisible. The levitating. The occasional mind-reading. Accidentally turning my dog into a stuffed animal when she scared the crap out of me. Or, I know, how about that one time I almost sawed off my own damn arm, except the blade just went right through my arm without touching it―"

"Even then," Paige cut her off, arching an eyebrow. "Noah will be pissed, though. You know how he is…"

"All snarling alpha male." Connie sighed and rubbed her face idly. "He'll probably kick me."

"Nah. Might clock you one though."

They looked at each other.

"No he wouldn't," they said in unison.

"He's _still _traumatized over the Lake Fiasco of 1984…" Connie trailed off at the memory. Hell, she was, too. Not that's she'd admit it, of course.

"Well, we _did _almost drown…"

"By 'we' you mean 'you and Summer', seeing as _this_ blonde was intelligent enough to stay away from the rope swing when nobody was paying attention," Connie corrected.

Paige whacked her with her pillow and rolled her eyes. "Obnoxious," she repeated, but was smiling.

"Thanks." Connie kicked off her shoes and relaxed. "Now pass me the popcorn and play the damn movie, woman."

Smiling, her hunting partner just shook her head and did just that.

"Hey, Con?"

"Mmm?"

"I need to get myself a stick like Rafiki's. Maybe it'll help me knock some sense into you when you get one of your harebrained ideas and do your damndest to get us both killed."

She glared at her friend. "Funny, Newbern. _Hilarious_."

Paige grinned cheekily. "I try."

This time, _she _was the one who got hit in the face with the pillow.

Connie just sniggered.

* * *

><p><strong>November 14, 2000<strong>

"You like him, don't you?"

Paige's head snapped up, fixing Connie with a sharp glare. "That has _what_ to do with our research?" she demanded, rolling her eyes and going back to scanning the obits.

"You _do _like him!" Connie gasped. "No _wonder _you've been such a grouch since he left!"

Slamming her fist down on the table, Paige scowled at her smirking hunting partner.

"Constance," she said evenly, not betraying an ounce of the pain her reminder had brought, "Dean Winchester is not who we should be focusing on right now."

"If you say so." Connie's eyes returned to her own computer screen and Paige resisted the urge to sigh in relief.

Connie held her tongue for one minute and twenty-one seconds. Paige had predicted she wouldn't be able to shut up for long and had been lazily counting the seconds go by as her friend squirmed. Not once in her life had Connie been able to resist adding on to the statements "If you say so" and "I told you so."

"I still can't believe you like him," Connie said suddenly, as if she would have exploded if she held it in a second longer.

Paige grit her teeth and prayed for patience. "Connie, do your damn research."

"Yes, _mother_," Connie scowled.

This time Connie really was quiet, becoming engrossed in her research. Paige thanked her lucky stars for the soothing silence and did the same.

Her remarks had gotten Paige thinking, though. She more than liked Dean. He'd become her best friend, besides the horde of course. She'd been able to talk to him about anything, no matter how random. In fact, several times, they'd talked about giant lizards attacking Japan and chocolate monkeys, just because they could.

In the middle of the night, he'd left. There'd been two notes, one for her dad and grandpa, and one for her. She still hadn't read it, and it had been almost two weeks. She didn't want to know what he had to say, in fear it would be something that would hurt.

"You should read it," Connie said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Damn it, Connie," hissed Paige, glaring at her. "Get out of my head!"

"I can't help it," she whined. "Your thoughts are projecting like laser beams into my skull!" She wiggled her fingers around her head in demonstration. "Your stupid emo mode is making me crave rocky road. Stop."

Paige exhaled slowly and looked pointedly at the computer screen. This research was going nowhere, fast.

"If it makes you feel any better, I saw him the night he left."

Her eyes snapped back up to meet Connie's serious gaze.

"We don't exactly get along," she continued, arching an eyebrow. "But he was projecting loudly, too. John made him go. He didn't want to. In fact, he was pretty pissed off and miserable that his dad dragged him off in the middle of the night instead of waiting until dawn like a normal person so that Dean could say goodbye."

All she could do was stare. She couldn't' picture Dean outwardly miserable. His poker face was too good for that.

"Not that night, it wasn't," said Connie matter-of-factly. She tilted her head to one side. "But me telling you that didn't help at all, did it?"

"No, not really." Paige returned her eyes to her lap. "But thanks anyway."

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

Connie was asleep, sprawled out in the other motel bed with her face buried in the pillows.

Paige was staring at her _Moby Dick_ novel. She'd tucked Dean's letter into it weeks ago and hadn't plucked up the guts to read it yet.

She'd been staring at it for three hours. Finally, gathering her nerve and taking a deep breath, she pulled the plain white envelope out of the book and held it tightly between her fingers. Silently cursing her own stupidity, she opened it and unfolded the letter carefully.

_Paige__―_

_You waited weeks to read this, didn't you? I know you did, so now, you're probably pissed at me, I bet. If I was there, I'd yank your ponytail, Blondie._

Despite herself, a small smile curved her lips. He knew her well. _Scary_ well.

_I hope that made you smile, at least. I got a phone call from my dad tonight, he's on his way to get me. Says I've been playing house long enough and it's time I got back to my family. Just between you and me, I think he just wants me around to delegate between him and Sam. And to boss me around._

Another, wider smile.

_You're smiling, but you're still mad, aren't you? This is me, proverbially sighing. If I was there, you would smack me and tell me I'm just stalling. You'd most likely tell me to just suck it up and spit out what I want to say already._

She rolled her eyes and leaned against the headboard, letting the light filtering through the curtains from the streetlamp outside fall over the paper.

_So, here it goes. This is me, spitting it out: I didn't want to leave. At all. I feel torn between my love for my family and my loyalty to yours. Nobody was more surprised than me when I ended up falling in love with a tiny town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, Wyoming._

A snort from her. Her anger was fading slightly to be replaced by irritation that his words were making said anger fade.

_We didn't get along at first. Pretty damn far from it, actually. I recall thinking you were a stuck-up know-it-all who annoyed the hell out of me. You irritated me as much as I irritated you. I'd like to think that we're at least friends now. We damn well better be. I don't spill my guts to just anyone, you know. If I'm being honest, you're my best friend. Hell, you're practically my _only _friend. And if you tell anyone I just said that, I'll have no regrets by throwing you in a dung heap, girl or not, you got me? Okay, not really. Noah would kill me, if Chris didn't do it first. Or worse__―__they'd to it together._

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter that was trying to bubble free. She'd had a ridiculous image of Dean being ripped in half by her over-protective brothers that for some reason was hilarious.

_So, I didn't want to leave. And I will be back, I swear. I don't know when, or for how long, but I will. And I hope that when I come back, you'll be at least a little happy to see me, and not, you know, shoot me in the ass with a twelve gauge or something._

_Yours,  
>Dean<em>

For a long time, she sat there, staring down at his familiar handwriting. She was still mad he'd left without saying goodbye . . . but she wasn't furious anymore. And she wouldn't shoot him.

Probably.

Mostly . . . she just missed him.

* * *

><p><strong>December 1, 2000<strong>

"The Winchester boy is pissing me off, John."

John Newbern tuned at the sound of Bruce Clayborne's voice. "Why?" he inquired, smirking. "He beating the socks off of everyone else in the class?"

Bruce grunted, ignoring the jibe, considering his own son was currently in the class. "I can't catch the little bastard," he muttered darkly. "He knows the question to every damn question I ask him. He identifies the monster with minimal information, and if he has to narrow it down, always picks the most accurate two choices, one of which is correct. No matter how hard I push the class, he never acts outwardly hungry or thirsty or tired. In fact, he's a damned smartass."

John's expression was clearly exasperated. "This is a bad thing, why, exactly?"

A shrug was Bruce's only answer. "He's freaky well trained," he elaborated after receiving the famous John Newbern glare. "It makes me wonder what hells his father has already put him through."

Eyes utterly serious, John replied quietly, "Too many, Bruce. Far too many."

* * *

><p><strong>December 11, 2000<strong>

Paige's heart quickened as Brad parked the truck beside Grandpa's in the driveway. Another Brotherhood class had just graduated, and Dean Winchester was one of them.

Dean, who she hadn't seen in two months. Her best friend, who had left without warning and not even said goodbye to her face.

At the moment, she wasn't sure if she'd hug him or punch him when she saw him again. Her thoughts were distracted as she got out the car and abruptly had her squirming nephew shoved into her hands.

"I'll be back," her dad grinned, jogging away. He was helping with setup, and Amy was working a shift in the hospital. Debbie was here already with the kids. Chris had been a part of the class (he hadn't had a chance to go through it before boot camp). Word on the street was the random blizzard they'd gotten had forced the class to march through it for six hours on minimal sleep, no food, and little water.

The baby in her arms squirmed again, making a pitiful little mewling noise of discomfort. She cradled him close and rubbed her nose on his tiny one, prompting a sleepy smile from the dark-haired baby.

"Who's graduating?" Ally wondered, jogging up beside her friend.

"Noah, Dean, Jared, Pete Schmidt, Cody Rawlings, Chad Porter, and a few others," said Paige. "When did you get in?"

"This morning," Ally shrugged. "I'm here until September, when I start at Stanford."

"Smarty pants," she teased.

Ally scowled at her. "Don't knock it just because you skipped college in favor of the military."

"Yeah, yeah." She shifted her nephew onto her shoulder. They still hadn't figured out what to call him. John would illicit confusion, Chris and Amy hated Johnny, and they couldn't call him Brad, either. So far, JB seemed the most likely alternative to constantly calling him just plain old John Bradley. "Is Summer here?"

"Nah," Ally sighed. "She was apparently serious about the whole quitting hunting thing, despite Noah's warnings that it would come back to bite her in the ass. Tim still doesn't have a clue and from the looks of things, she wants it to stay that way."

Paige shook her head. "I'd been hoping Noah's advice might have changed her mind. Usually she at least partway listens to him."

"She's stubborn."

"Nice observation, Mophead."

Ally smiled mischievously. "So," she drawled, a sure sign she was up to something. "What are you going to do when you see Dean?"

Paige didn't rise to the bait and smiled sweetly. "No sure yet," she said cheerfully. "What are _you_ going to do when you see Noah?"

Coloring, Ally punched her on the shoulder. "I do _not _have a crush on Noah Clayborne," she snapped defensively.

"Allyson, that's like saying the sun doesn't set in the west," Paige teased. "We _all _know about the letters you two have been swapping."

Face now beet red, Ally simply crossed her arms and glared. Paige laughed in her face.

There was a barbeque going, as per tradition. All of the candidates were back, seeing as the bonfire had been lit. The "initiation" ceremony would start soon. It really only consisted in some cheering and hearty back-thwacking, nothing overly serious or cult-y.

Paige was relieved of her squirming nephew by a smiling Debbie. Arms now free, she snagged a root beer and weaved through the crowd toward Noah.

"Funny that you were teaching the classes before you attended the school," she said by way of introduction, stopping beside him and elbowing him in the ribs.

Noah's smile was full of warmth. "It was a walk in the park, minus that wretched snow storm," he chuckled. "Everyone knew it would be, for me, I mean. Sure had fun with Dean and Jared, though."

"I bet," she laughed. "Kick some ass, take some names . . . set a tree on fire, right?"

His cheeks pinked, but his cheeky grin warmed her heart. "My bad," he said sheepishly. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Evidently," she teased, but finally took pity on him and reverted to serious conversation. "So, who's your assigned partner? You know yet?"

Noah's smile widened. "We fought together in the sand pit," he admitted, a hint of affection in his tone. "His name's Mike, Michael Brent―"

"My cousin?" she realized, surprised, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Noah was equally surprised and nearly choked on his beer. "He's your cousin?"

"Hey, Blondie!"

Before Paige could react, strong arms had swept her up and swung her in a circle. "Mikey," she grinned, hugging around his neck tightly. "Small world, eh?"

"Well, we _do _come from hunting royalty . . . figure we'd run into each other eventually," Michael teased, his blue eyes sparking with mischief. His buzzed blonde hair looked nearly white in the sunlight.

"As you say, Prince Michael," she mocked in a nasally voice that made him laugh. He set her on her feet and grinned at Noah's expression.

"I didn't tell him we were cousins," he whispered conspiratorially, waggling his eyebrows. "His expression is _totally _worth it."

She shook her head and shoved him playfully away from her. "Whoever put you two together _must _have been high," she said.

"I'll be sure to tell grandpa you said that," smirked Noah.

"Congrats, you two," she said, patting their shoulders. "Excuse me."

They saluted her with their beers. She slipped back into the crowd, looking for Connie. Her hunting partner was late. Knowing Connie as well as she did, she was aware that Connie would likely teleport in and therefore would come in someplace secluded, like behind the tree. Tucking her hands in her pockets she headed in that direction.

"Interesting history your town has."

Paige froze, every nerve ending sparking to life. Slowly, she turned around, and there he was in his trademark blue over-shirt, jeans torn at the knee, and black biker boots. He looked tired and his hair was shorter on the sides than she'd ever seen it, she realized, irritated by feeling that tugged at her heart. Those familiar gold-flecked green eyes searched her face, searching for something, anything.

"You could say that," she said quietly, proud of the even tone of her voice. It was a miracle she could even hear her own voice over the pounding of her heart. She tried to read his expression but it might as well have been a closed book. His eyes told a different story.

"Hey," he said softly, taking a step towards her. Paige remained where she was, watching him with an unfathomable expression on her face. When she made no reply, he stopped moving forward and just stood there.

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither sure what to say.

"Did you―" he asked.

"Why did you―" she said at the same time.

Laughing slightly, they looked at each other.

"Go ahead," he said, inclining his head towards her.

"No, you go first," said Paige, waving her hand.

"Okay," Dean said carefully. He cleared his throat. "Did you get my letter?"

Paige opened her mouth, thought better about it, and closed it. She nodded instead, unsure what to say or even how she wanted to say it. Moments ago she'd been angry, hurt, that he'd left. Now she wanted to cry. She didn't understand her reaction.

"I'm sorry I left." He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I broke my promise, Paige, and I hate myself for that."

It was her turn to take a deep breath. "Yeah, Dean, you did hurt me," she said bluntly. "A wise man once told me that life is too short to hold onto anger, Dean, and I thin, he's right. Yes, I was mad, and hurt . . . but, you promised you'd come back." She dropped her eyes to the ground and crossed her arms. "And you did. That has to count for something."

A smile curved Dean's lips. "Your grandma is a pretty smart dude," he said simply.

She smiled. "Yeah, he is."

Dean's boots moved into her peripheral vision, stopping when they were a few inches from hers.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I hope you'll forgive me eventually." She felt his breath on the top of her head when he exhaled. "I missed you."

Paige finally met his eyes. "I missed you too," she admitted.

"Hug?" he said hopefully, flashing a charming grin as he held his arms open.

Rolling her eyes, she stepped into the hug. She closed her eyes and hugged him tightly, relaxing as his strong arms wound tightly around her. His chest was warm under her cheek and he smelled like a mix of laundry detergent, the soap from his recent shower, and a faint whiff of his cologne.

The sudden weight of his chin on the top of her head made her start a little but she didn't pull away.

Dean closed his eyes in relief and inhaled the scent of her shampoo―strawberries, this time.

It had been miserable, away from Thunder Creek. Sam and John had fought, a lot. Everything escalated, and had ended with a massive fight where Sam left for college at Stanford and John disappeared into the night.

He'd just felt numb, unsure what to do or how to fix it, deeply hurt by his brother's abrupt departure, his abandonment. Eventually he'd come to the realization that there _was _no way to fix it. Sam was gone, and he couldn't do a thing about it. He'd returned to Thunder Creek, explained everything to John, and requested a spot in the next Trial. John had immediately signed him up.

That wasn't the point. The point was he hadn't felt _alive _until he'd seen these hills again, hadn't really felt _anything _until he saw Chris' grinning face and had Noah clapping him affectionately on the back. He hadn't been really _alive _until now, standing with her in his arms, thankfully not soaking his shirt with tears this time.

Sure, John Newbern had been gruffer than ever, but as soon as he'd walked out of the forest exhausted and half-starved but victorious, he'd felt that strong hand on his shoulder and could have sworn that _pride _shone in those familiar blue eyes.

She pulled away from him. "You should get back over there," she said quietly. "They're starting the acceptance ceremony soon."

Dean let his arms fall to his sides and stepped back, studying her face, for once open to him like a book.

"You can hit me if it will make you feel better," he offered, a small smile playing on his lips.

"I'm not going to hit you, Dean," she retorted, rolling her eyes. She did smile at him, though, and shooed him towards where the new Brothers (and Sisters) were standing. As she walked away from him, more into the shadow of the oak, something pulled sharply at him that he could not describe.

He thought maybe, in that moment, that he loved her.

* * *

><p><strong>Stuttgart, Arkansas<br>**December 15, 2000

Dean slammed into the ground hard enough to have the breath expelled from his lungs. He rolled before he impacted, the blade of the axe missing his left arm by a hairsbreadth. Chris flew in the opposite direction, slamming into a tree before painfully falling into the hard-packed earth of the Arkansas graveyard, but not before his shotgun discharged and the rock salt caused the spirit to dissipate, for now.

Wheezing, he got to his feet and aimed his shotgun, only to be flung sideways into a tree. Well, that hadn't taken long, Dean mused. This spirit was being a mite stubborn as far as the whole not-dying thing went. His shotgun skittered across the hard-packed earth. Groaning, he rolled to his feet and scrambled for the weapons bag as Chris scrambled for the shotguns.

They were then flung by the pissed off spirit against a headstone, thumping to the ground together.

"What was that about a routine hunt again, Dean?" Chris groaned.

"Shut up," Dean groaned back, scrambling to his feet.

The next time they were flung, Dean shook his head to expel the dizziness. He'd finally made it to the damn weapons bag, at least. Not three seconds later, he was flung again.

"Getting really tired of being flung around like a goddamn ragdoll," he shouted in frustration as he picked himself up _again_. He saw Chris get knocked down in his peripheral vision, blood trickling from his nostrils as he lay stunned on the hard-packed earth.

"I am _not _dying in some freakin' Arkansas graveyard," Dean proclaimed stubbornly, diving for the weapons bag again. His hands found the shotgun, rolling over and bracing it as the sprit's axe arced downward, directly towards his face―

A shotgun blast materialized the spirit instantly and Dean flinched in reaction to the sudden noise directly over his head. He tipped his head back as calm blue eyes met his.

"Constance?" he said, surprised.

"Howdy," she grinned, a feral grin. "Need this?" she wondered, flicking a lighter open.

Dean scrambled to his feet and saw across the patch of earth Paige hauling Chris to his feet with one hand, and shaking salt into the grave with the other hand, an empty bottle of lighter fluid beside her foot.

"Look out," Connie advised, shoving Dean sideways hard enough that he stumbled and nearly tripped over a gravestone before regaining his equilibrium as another shotgun blast went off. "Damn, this sucker just doesn't want to die, does he?"

"Not really, no," he said sarcastically, firing over her shoulder at the thing.

"Bastard," she muttered, firing again. "Oi, Princess, sometime today would be nice!" she hollered across the graveyard to Paige.

"Can it!" Paige hollered back, not looking at her. She jumped down into the grave, shovel in hand, and started slamming the shovel down with all her strength. In her haste to help her brother she hadn't noticed that the coffin was only half-broken, meaning part of the skeleton was still protected. Chris jumped down to help her, their grunts of effort mixing with Connie and Dean's labored breathing as they kept the spirit back and distracted enough to give their respective hunting partners time to get the job done.

"Dig faster!" Connie shouted as she ducked an axe, reloading quickly as she backpedaled.

"I'm not freaking Superman!" Paige bellowed in response, cursing as the damn wood refused to give.

"God," Chris grunted, "damn," he slammed the shovel down, "it_,_" he finished, swiping a hand across his forehead. The wood must have had some kind of metal inlay, because it wasn't too fond of breaking.

"Duck, twinkletoes," Connie yelled, firing where Dean's head had been moments before.

"A little _warning_ next time," Dean huffed, shoving her shoulder irritably as he reloaded.

"What do you want, a Pulitzer?" she shot back angrily, kicking him hard in the shin.

"Oh, go to hell." Dean fired another blast.

Connie's tone was sarcastic. "Been there, done that."

Dean bent over nearly backwards to escape her shotgun's next blast. "Jesus!" he exclaimed, ignoring the sharp pain in his back. He must have just strained a muscle, or four, he added as the pain shot up his spine.

"Can it, Barbie, this fight is long from over, cry me a river and get over it," Connie advised, yanking him back to his feet.

He panted from the exertion, taking their momentary respite to catch his breath. "In the future, let's restrict our conversations to _hello _and _goodbye_," he snarked grumpily.

Connie grinned, and the spark in her eye was definitely feral that time.

And then they were fighting again.

"Finally," Chris exclaimed as they leapt out of the grave, him pulling his sister up as she tossed a lighter over her shoulder in the same moment. Connie and Dean dove away from each other as the spirit's axe came between them, immediately flickering on the edges as the flame roared in the freshly dug grave.

"Nighty night, asshole," Dean snarled as the ashes spread in the wind, painfully pulling himself to his feet.

The four hunters stood, bent over with their hands on their knees and panting from the exertion, but with the feeling of triumph now that another vengeful spirit was free.

"Thanks for the assist," said Chris. "How'd you know we'd be here?"

"Connie's sixth sense," Paige replied.

Chris punched Dean on the shoulder, making the other man yelp.

"The hell was that for?" he demanded, punching Chris back.

"Standard salt-and-burn my _ass_," Chris grumbled.

"Well, princesses, I'd say that turned out rather well," Connie snorted, cradling her shotgun in her arms as one would a small child.

The two men glared at her, and all Connie did was smirk.

"Control her," Chris suggested to Paige, gesturing between the two blondes.

Paige smirked, looking very much like Connie in that moment, so much so that they could have been twins.

"Where's the fun in that?" she wondered.

Chris groaned. "Dear God, not _you_ too."

Paige and Connie's smirks only widened.

/

Noah rolled his shoulders, not quite used to the fell of civilian clothes yet. He was home again, for now, and a little upset that Ally had left this morning without even saying goodbye to him. She and Paige were on their way to a horse show in Kentucky.

He'd had enough time to pass the Trails, though, and that had been about three weeks ago. Even though it was less of a "trial" and more of a cakewalk, but that was beside the point. He bore the Mark of the Brotherhood, now, inked in black over his heart.

Next time he was deployed, he could scratch demonic possession off his list of worries, and focus on trying to get Allyson and her thick skull to believe him when he said he was falling in love with her.

/

"It's troublesome, Bobby," John Newbern insisted, tenting his fingers to stare absently out the window at the Wyoming countryside his family had owned for generations. "Even in my lifetime, demonic presence has grown."

"More and more of the bastards are crawling out of the hole," Bobby agreed, crossing his arms. "Something big is coming, I can feel it itching in my bones."

John did not look at him, but knew Bobby's expression was just as troubled as his own. "Samuel Colt's warning?" he wondered aloud, fingering his chin.

Bobby made a noncommittal noise. "Maybe," he grunted in allowance. "I don't know, John."

The two hunters fell into silence, wondering just _what _was coming―and how it would affect the people they loved.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Short one. No idea how many I have left, just mapping it out as I go along. I'd say maybe eight? But I've been saying that for a while, so I don't know. Got lots of Noah/Ally stuff, some Chris/Amy stuff, lots of Paige/Dean stuff, and of course some Sam/Ally stuff coming up soon as well (she has to get pregnant with Levi _SOMEHOW_, after all). More hunts, more whumpage, more drama . . . pretty much a day in my life, peeps. X.x

Been having a REALLY crappy week . . . reviews would make my week a heck of a lot better. *puppy dog eyes*

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
>(and of course, it's nice for US to know we're loved back every once and a while . . .food for thought)<strong>


	29. Hanging By A Moment

**A/N**: Excited that the story is really picking up. As soon as I'm done with THIS, I'll be able to FINALLY get a move on with FTGF, which I haven't posted in for-freaking-ever…

**Disclaimer**: Only own my OCs. Title of chap belongs to Lifehouse (they're epic).

* * *

><p><em>I'm falling even more in love with you  I'm letting go of all I've held on to / I'm standing here until you make me move / just hanging by a moment here with you  
>–"Hanging by a Moment", Lifehouse<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Nine<br>**Hanging By A Moment

**Stuttgart, Arkansas  
><strong>December 15, 2000

"Stop squirming," Paige scolded, smacking Dean on his uninjured shoulder.

"Well, quit _poking _so damn hard then," he shot back, gritting his teeth against the pain in his dislocated shoulder.

She rolled her eyes. "Relax, drama queen. Okay, in three, ready?"

"Just get it over with," he groaned, as she seized his throbbing arm and braced her other hand on his swollen shoulder.

"One, two," she stopped when his shoulder slid back into its joint with an audible pop. He groaned in part pain, part relief.

"Sadist," he accused, screwing his eyes tightly shut while he regained his equilibrium.

"Patched up your sorry ass," she shot back, though her blue eyes glinted in amusement. "Now hold still for the rest."

Dean obeyed; he wouldn't put it past her to poke him in the slash on his side just to prove a point. She lifted the hand of his recently relocated shoulder and instructed him to rest it over her own shoulder. He obeyed and held perfectly still while she had him hold an ice pack in place on his shoulder while she wrapped an ace bandage around his upper arm and shoulder before spanning across his back diagonally and under his other arm, crossing it back up across his chest. She looped it twice before securing the end of the ACE at the top of his shoulder.

He watched her while she stitched up the cut on his side, watching her movements to distract himself, and in so doing, avoid flinching in pain as the needle pierced his flesh. She was quick and neat, taping gauze over the wound after swabbing it with alcohol and then smearing it with Neosporin.

"Don't keep the ice on it for more than twenty minutes," she instructed. "I'm going to go make sure Connie didn't kill Chris when she was patching him up."

He laid down gratefully on the bed, the exhaustion and physical beating starting to take its toll. The cut on his side was smarting thanks to the alcohol, but the pain reducing Neosporin was slowly seeping in to numb the pain. His shoulder throbbed in time with his heart, but it didn't hurt anymore; it was just the muscles and ligaments fixing themselves since his shoulder had been pulled out. At least the cut over his eye wasn't bleeding anymore, that had been annoying.

Chris' sharp yelp from the other room caught his attention. He sat up, ignoring the pain in his abused ribs. He shuffled into the other room just in time to see Constance dump alcohol over Chris' shoulder blade, where a long cut spanned his tanned skin. Chris yelled loudly in protest and pain.

The cut itself was sallow at the ends but deep in the middle, and looked like it had been caused by an axe.

"Ouch," he commented dryly, leaning his good shoulder against the doorframe.

"Can it," Chris demanded through gritted teeth while Paige held his arm still so he wouldn't mess up Connie's stitching. His phone rang while the two women were busy, and he answered it. His expression abruptly turned serious, his words clipped, until he hung up. Connie finished up the bandaging.

"What's wrong?" Paige wondered.

"I have to go," he said shortly, tossing his clothes into his duffel bag. "I'll take the black suburban."

"What's going on?" she said more insistently, grabbing his arm.

"Grandpa needs me to help on this hunt," he insisted, hurrying into the bathroom to get the last of his supplies. "Shouldn't take long."

"What about me?" Dean wondered.

"Your shoulder is busted."

"And you've got a six inch gash down your shoulder blade!" Connie said indignantly.

"So?" Chris demanded, glaring at the two blonde women and his hunting partner. "Dean, you're busted. Con and Paige, Grandpa doesn't want you on this one."

The two women crossed their arms and glared right back.

"Don't shoot the messenger," he said hotly, holding up his hands in a surrender gesture. "I'm just saying what he said." He switched his gaze to Dean. "I'll be back in a few days. You guys stay here until then, get rested and healed up."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Three hours later, a sharp rap on the door between their two rooms made Dean look up from his dad's hunting journal. He pulled his aching body out of bed and shuffled to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open. He was a little startled to see Paige there in black and white plaid pajama pants and a black tank top. For the thousandth time, he shoved down the bolt of desire that shot through him.

"It's two in the morning," Dean pointed out, bracing his forearm on the doorway and looking down at her, raising an inquiring eyebrow, more than a little surprised over this unexpected development.

"I can't sleep," Paige sighed, slipping under his arm past him into the room. She brushed against him when she did so, but didn't seem to notice the way he stiffened in reaction.

By the time he turned to see what she was up to, he was more than a bit shocked to see her sitting comfortably on the side of the bed he'd just vacated.

Leaving the door open slightly, making sure the light didn't spill across Connie's sleeping form, he sat on the opposite side of the bed and scooted backwards to use the headboard as a backrest, reaching behind him to plump the pillows to his specifications.

She copied him, leaving them shoulder-to-shoulder staring at their socked feet.

"What do you think of to do when you can't sleep?" she wondered idly, wiggling her toes just for something to do.

Dean chuckled. "Lots of things," he said, "most of which would involve you and me, with no clothes."

Paige's startled gaze flew to his. She narrowed her eyes. "Is that your attempt at seducing me?"

"No, that was me teasing you," he said, bumping her shoulder with his.

"Oh."

He neglected to mention just how badly he _wanted _to do all those things that required little to no clothing, figuring now was not the time. _Ease her into it, Dean_, he reminded himself for the millionth time. Pretty damn hard with her _right _there next to him.

Several minutes passed in comfortable silence.

"How's your shoulder?" she wondered.

"Feels okay," he said, rotating it absently. Not too much pain. "Still hurts a little bit. Nothing an ibuprofen and some ice can't cure."

"And your side?"

Dean shrugged, being careful with his bad shoulder. He'd been stitched up enough times in his life that it had ceased to bother him a long time ago.

Silence descended again, both of them lost in their thoughts.

He watched her foot shaking restlessly for the better part of three minutes before he decided to ask what in the heck was bothering her at two thirty in the morning.

"What's got you so worried?" he questioned, turning his head to study her expression.

Paige met his gaze, giving him a good frown. "What makes you think something is wrong?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You love sleep, and yet here you are, bugging me at two in the morning," he drawled. "_And_ your foot is shaking. New flash, sweet cheeks, you only do that when you're stressed out about something."

Paige sighed and shot him an irritated glare.

"C'mon, you obviously want to talk about it," he prodded.

"No, I don't."

"Some part of your subconscious mind does, or you wouldn't be sitting here."

"I hate you," she said wearily with no heat.

Dean grinned. "No, you don't," he said confidently.

"No," she sighed, "I don't."

Amusement glinted in his eyes as he watched her scoot down and roll onto her side, hugging a pillow―his pillow, he noted with glee―tightly to her chest.

"I'm worried about them," she said finally, cutting around the crap and getting straight to the point.

"Why?" he wondered curiously, tilting his head slightly. "They know what they're doing."

"I know that," she snapped, sitting up abruptly. "Something just feels . . . off." Pillow forgotten, she started pacing beside the bed, arms crossed over her chest. "But I think something happened."

"Like what?" Dean wondered, crossing his ankles and stacking his hands on his chest. He was the picture of relaxation, only his eyes moving as he tracked her feverish pacing.

"Oh, gee, I don't know, one of the _million _things that could go wrong," she growled, not even pausing her pacing as she shot him a loathing glare.

"Maybe a plane crashed on their campsite," he returned sarcastically, his voice bordering on mocking. "Maybe they got in a car accident and they all died. Or maybe they got attacked and eaten alive by rabid dogs."

Paige glared at him, stopping her pacing and putting her hands on her hips. "Very funny, Winchester. What's your point?"

"My _point _is that you're being ridiculous," he said gently. "Maybe something happened, maybe I didn't. A million things could go wrong, like you said, Paige, but there's no sense in worrying yourself sick over it."

She faltered slightly, the irritation in her expression fading to be replaced by worry. "Grandpa's not as young as he used to be, though," she whispered, worrying her lip. "And Mikey and Noah were with him. Why would he need Chris, too?"

Dean shrugged again. "If it was something that bad, don't you think they would have dragged me, you, and Connie with them?" he questioned.

"But―"

"But nothing," he said firmly, reaching out and pulling her back down onto the bed.

Paige resituated herself, lying on her side facing him with the pillow hugged to her chest again. Her expression was intently focused as she stared at him without actually seeing him, brows furrowing in thought.

"Stop it," he chided gently.

"Stop what?" she said.

Dean touched the wrinkled space between her eyebrows with a gentle fingertip. "Scrunching your eyebrows like that," he elaborated. "You're still worrying, aren't you?" _And it's adorable_, he added silently.

"I can't help it," she muttered, not looking at him.

He laughed. "You have got _quite _the Mommy Complex, Ms. Newbern," he teased. Her eyes flashed back up to his and he inwardly cheered―his diabolical plan had worked. At this rate her worry would be forgotten in no time.

"What did I tell you about calling me that?"

His grin widened at her threatening tone. "I don't recall," he said, widening his eyes innocently.

Paige's lips twitched. "That innocent face actually get you anywhere?" she wondered.

"You would be surprised," he joked, winking at her.

She did laugh then, finally relaxing. "What do you think they're hunting?" she wondered after a long silence.

"Paige," he groaned, slapping a hand over his eyes in exasperation.

"Humor me," she insisted, tugging his arm until he dropped his hand. "It will distract me from thinking horrible things like finding them dead in a ditch somewhere."

"Fine," he sighed. "I have no idea what they're hunting," he added. He stretched out beside her, feeling her warmth along his side. He didn't even open his eyes when he felt her tugging his shirt up and her fingers gently prodding the wound over his ribs. "Wendigo, maybe?" he said aloud to distract his mind from the feeling of her hands on his skin.

Paige snorted. "A wendigo?" she mocked. "This far west?"

"Okay, maybe not," he chuckled. His forehead puckered in thought. "Hmm. Blackdog?"

"Maybe," she allowed.

"Could be a crocotta, though those tend to live in cities more than forests, nowadays."

"It's not a demon . . ." she trailed off.

" . . . because they possess people," he finished for her.

"Not a spirit, either . . ."

" . . . because that would require a place to haunt . . ."

" . . . and there's nothing out there."

" Which means it's probably something corporeal . . ."

". . . and might be harder to kill," Paige finished thoughtfully.

"Or easier," Dean pointed out just as thoughtfully.

Neither noticed they'd been finishing each other's sentences. Connie did, and watched them curiously from where she was sitting up in bed, awoken by the light shining in from the adjoining room and their not-so-quiet conversation.

"On the same freakin' brainwave," she muttered darkly, pulling the extra pillow over her head so that she could sleep.

"Did you hear something?" Paige wondered, lifting her head to peer back into her room.

"Connie," Dean explained, not moving an inch. "She went back to sleep."

Paige's expression was incredulous.

Dean smiled. "Paranoid childhood," he reminded her. "I don't miss much."

"Evidently," she snorted, yawning suddenly. She clapped a hand over her mouth, surprised that she'd yawned so wide there were tears at the corners of her eyes.

Dean sighed and shifted a little, searching for a more comfortable spot on the bed. "Whatever it is," he said, continuing their conversation from earlier, "I'm sure they're just fine."

"I hope so," she said.

"I know so," he boasted jokingly.

She just smiled sleepily, not opening her eyes.

He watched her struggle to keep her eyes open. "Do you feel better now?" he asked tenderly, reaching out to brush a lock of hair behind her ear.

Paige nodded, yawning again. Talking to him had liberated her fears, made her realize she was being silly.

"Thanks, Dean," she mumbled. It was suddenly like lead weights were tied to her eyelids, forcing them closed. She meant to get up and go back to her room, but was asleep before she could even sit up.

Dean watched her as she slipped into dreamland, her breathing deepening and evening out, arms relaxing their death grip on his pillow. He shook his head and gently kissed her forehead, reaching across her with his good shoulder to click off the lights.

In the darkness, listening to her breathing, he, too, fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Connie sat up again, tossing her pillow aside. "Finally," she muttered, punching her pillow a few times to get comfortable. She yawned. "Freakin' lovebirds. Thought they were never going to shut up." It was hard to sleep half-smothered with a pillow, anyway. That was her last thought before she, too, slipped into dreamland.

Paige didn't need to know that her best friend had just pushed a few buttons in her mind so that she'd go the heck to sleep, already.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<br>**December 20, 2000

"What do you want for Christmas?" Dean wondered, hands shoved in his pockets as he walked beside Paige towards the barn.

"All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth," she replied in a singsong voice, grinning at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Never mind, then," he said, bumping her shoulder with his.

"World peace," she said, tapping her chin. "No, wait. My own personal Starbucks. Ooh, I know!" She grabbed his arm, pulling them both to a stop. "For Summer to pop out her damn kid already so she stops biting everyone's heads off!"

Dean blinked. "I thought the kid wasn't due until January?"

"Oh, right," Paige sighed. "I suppose wishing for a premature baby isn't exactly nice."

He laughed at her and walked forward again, dragging her with him, seeing as her hand was still on his arm. She tucked her arm into his and leaned against him as they walked, her cheek on his bicep, suddenly quiet.

"You okay?" he wondered, nudging her forehead with his chin.

"Hmm? Oh, I'm fine," she said, smiling at him. He didn't buy it, but didn't press. Since he'd come back, she seemed to have forgiven him for leaving (even though it hadn't been his fault) and their friendship was back to the way it had been, only, well, stronger.

"Anything you want to talk about?" he prodded gently.

"My mother might be coming to Christmas this year," she muttered, puckering her lips in distaste. "With her new husband, some dude named Harry Buford. They got married a few years ago."

Ah. He knew how much her mother distressed her. "I see," he said diplomatically.

"And they're bringing Jillian along with Harry's daughter and the twins he had with Wendy."

Dean stopped in his tracks, staring down at her. "You have another sibling?"

"I prefer not to think about it," she grumbled. "I don't count them. I've never even seen them. I think they're three now."

He was stunned. "She had more kids? After what she did to you and Chris?"

"Yeah, life is funny like that," she said darkly, shaking her head. "God has a sick sense of humor sometimes, I'm telling you, seeing as she lost one of the twins with her first husband. Funny, huh?"

"Hilarious," he said sarcastically. "What are their names?"

"No idea," Paige shrugged. "Don't care."

"You can't mean that," he chided. "They're just babies. It's not their fault your mom's a bitch."

"Mother," she corrected. "Debbie is my mom."

"Right. Sorry."

Paige sighed, stopping to hug him with one arm. "Don't be sorry," she assured him, as his arm fell across her shoulders and held her there. She sighed and closed her eyes, pressing her face into the leather of his jacket, inhaling his familiar, comforting scent. When she spoke next, her voice was slightly muffled. "I think their names are Leslie and Carter. Or maybe it was Lauren and Connor, or Lucy and Christian? I can't remember. I only glanced at it before I threw it in the trash," she admitted.

"But Claire―"

"Jillian," Paige corrected automatically. "Only mother calls her Claire."

"Right, Jillian. She lives with them year round?"

Paige nodded. "Except for most of the summer, when Jillian comes here."

"Uh-huh. And Travis and Carolyn live here year round?"

"Yes," she said, confused by this line of questioning. "Their dad's a deadbeat, in jail, last we knew. Dad officially adopted them a _while _ago."

"And your dad and Debbie have three?"

"Yeah, Gunner, Lilly, and Garrett." Paige cocked her head to one side. "Why?"

"And now you have this Harry guy's daughter?"

"Natalie," she supplied, shrugging. "She came by for a visit once. She's nice. Chris, Dad, and I liked her."

"And now these twins with the Harry dude are more siblings?"

"Technically half-siblings, but yeah."

"How many is that?" Dean wondered, scratching his forehead.

"Um," she trailed off, counting. "Two full-blooded, three if you include Jillian's twin Garrett who died, five half, and three step."

"You have _ten _siblings?"

"Well, Natalie doesn't really count, and Travis and Carrie technically don't count, either."

Dean shook his head. "Your family is confusing," he teased.

Paige rolled her eyes. "You're telling me. Shoulda seen Noah's face when he figured out Michael is my cousin."

He stopped in his tracks again. "Michael is your cousin?" he repeated, stunned.

She laughed at his expression. "Yes, on my mother's side, the Knox side."

His brow furrowed, trying to connect everyone in his mind. It was a futile effort. "I give up," he proclaimed dramatically.

"Yeah, welcome to _my _life. _You_ try having over two hundred and fifty cousins . . ."

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<br>**December 25, 2000

Wendy showed up with her new(ish) husband, Harry Buford, Harry's fourteen-year-old daughter Natalie, fifteen-year-old Jillian, and four-year-old twins Lucy and Christian two hours before dinner, long after presents had been opened, snowball fights had ensued, Mary had whacked every male in the vicinity upside the head with her ladle, Jared had nearly knocked over the Christmas tree, Gunner had set the tablecloth on fire, John Bradley had tumbled head-first over the edge of the couch and thrown the most epic fit in the history of epic fits, Lilly had accidentally opened the paddock and let out two of the stallions who needed fifteen people to be separated using tranquilizer darts and pitchforks, and the dogs had been tripped over twenty-three times.

To say the least, it was a rather awkward Christmas, though Brad and Wendy were now on good enough terms. It was especially awkward for the new spouses, Debbie and Harry, who weren't quite sure how to act around each other and their respective children, and also awkward for said respective children, who weren't sure how to act around the other children and were still a little young to understand what was going on. And it was really, really awkward for the three full-blooded children of the two people who had started this whole mess.

"This is bizarre," Jillian whispered, both eyebrows raised as he helped Paige and Dean carry plates and utensils to the massive table that would seat over fifty people. Her grandparents were attempting to engage Harry in conversation, while Tina (Brad's sister) glared holes into the back of Wendy's head. Tina still held a grudge against her former sister-in-law for what she'd done to Paige and Chris.

"You're telling me," Paige whispered back, watching her half-siblings out of the corner of her eye. Christian was tall for his age, with his father's thick brown hair and her mother's blue eyes. Lucy had the same brown hair, but with Harry's brown eyes. Natalie was a redhead with those same brown eyes, and Harry looked immensely uncomfortable despite the fact the family was making an effort to act normal.

As that usually went, though, trying super hard to act normal just made it even more awkward. Especially considering poor Harry was practically sweating bullets due to the strange tattoos, visible guns, and weird books. He would probably leave thinking they were all devil worshipers.

"I can't believe her," he hissed, glaring at their mother. "She just _waltzes_ in here like nothing ever happened. Never even really said sorry for all the shit she put us through, either."

Paige shot her brother a fierce glare. "Like 'sorry' can cover years of verbal abuse and virtual abandonment?"

"You two might want to whisper a little _quieter_," Dean hissed, noticing that Harry had heard the two bickering siblings and looked torn between saying something and keeping quiet out of respect, a pained expression on his face.

"She almost got you _killed_," Chris reminded his sister in a whisper-yell.

"_You _were in the car too, moron!" Paige whisper-yelled back.

"What are we yelling about?" Noah wondered, coming between them with stacks of glass cups, voice a whisper-yell as well. Jillian started to giggle from the absurdity of the situation, clapping her free hand over her mouth to muffle the noise.

"We're not yelling, we're whispering," she informed him.

Dean was also struggling not to laugh at this point and winked at Jillian, who grinned brightly.

"Yeah, like a four year old," Noah retorted, grinning. He was glad to be home for Christmas, for once. Damn deployments were a pain in the butt.

Chris' eyes flashed. "Shut up, Noah!"

"You shut up!"

"Boys," Brad said mildly, arms crossed as he sat on the edge of the table. "You might want to work on your tact."

Chris grimaced. "Sorry, dad," he sighed. "It's just . . . I cannot _believe_ you invited _her_."

"She's your mother, Christopher," Brad reminded him in a no-nonsense tone. "Now your service is over, and she hasn't seen you since '95, not really. You didn't invite her to your wedding, and you only sent her John Bradley's birth announcement because Amy badgered you about it for weeks. Your mother is sober, remarried, and has two more children. She's been clean since long before that accident and trying her hardest to try and fix things with you and your sister, but it seems to me like the both of you don't give a damn." Paige and Chris shifted uncomfortably, while Jillian reached out to gently squeeze their hands. "She's happy, and she _is _trying. You should give her a chance. Please. For me and Debbie, give her a chance. She messed up in the past, but maybe now she's someone you'll learn to forgive and let into your life. And those twins are your brother and sister too, they don't deserve to be hated just because your mom."

Chris and Paige listened to this, staring at the ground. Dean could see the emotions warring on their faces, and couldn't blame them. It was hard to push aside a lifetime of hurt simply because their mom was suddenly fine _now, _especially considering what he'd seen that witch say to the both of them. He would remember her telling her daughter that she was good for nothing and Paige sobbing into his chest until the day he died.

Silence had fallen over the group of young adults, and Brad nodded, judging his work here was done.

Brad wandered off to grab Gunner, who had hot wax on his hands and was wailing, but getting a good scolding from his father for playing with the candles when he'd been specifically told _not _to.

Paige looked down when she felt a tug on her pants and smile down at Garrett. "Hey, Gare," she greeted him, bending to pull him into a loving hug, kissing the top of his white-blonde head. "What's up?"

"Can we go ride the horseys later?" he wondered, eyes wide in all of his five-year-old innocence.

"Maybe tomorrow, buddy," she told him, rubbing between his shoulder blades. "Aren't you having fun playing with all the other kids?"

Jillian, Noah, Chris, and Dean set the table, watching Paige as she dealt with the five-year-old boy.

Garrett thought about it before shaking his head. "How come that blonde lady looks like you and Jilly?" he wondered, cocking his head to one side.

"That's because she's mine and Jillian's biological mommy," she explained, crouching beside him.

"I thought mommy was your real mommy," he said, expression confused.

"Mommy _is _my mommy," she said, struggling to think of a way to explain it to him. "Do you remember when Daddy was telling you about DNA?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded. "You get half from your mommy and half from your daddy."

"Right," Paige agreed, putting an arm around him to pull him into her side. "Well, I got half of my DNA from Daddy, and the other half from that blonde lady, Wendy. But Daddy and Wendy aren't married anymore, and Daddy married Mommy. When they got married, me, Chris, and Jillian became Mommy's other children, before you, Gunner, and Lilly were even born. Do you understand?"

"I think so," he said, lips puckered in thought. "Mommy didn't give you DNA, but she's still your mommy?"

"That's right. Chris and I didn't like Mommy at first, because we didn't know her. But now we love her like she _did _give us her DNA."

Garrett frowned, mulling it all over in his mind. "Oh." He looked up at her, eyes bright with curiosity. "So are Lucy and Christian your brother and sister?"

"They're my half-brother and half-sister, just like you, Gunner, and Lilly are," Paige explained gently, kissing his forehead.

Garret's eyes widened as he suddenly clung to her, his expression worried. "But you love me like I'm your real brother, right?"

Paige smiled at him. "Of course," she assured him, hugging him tightly. "You're my little Garebear." She kissed him on the top of the head. "I love you to the moon and back."

Garrett giggled happily, kissing her cheek. "Love you too, Paigey."

She tweaked his nose. "Why don't you go in there and help Gunner clean up?"

With one lass peck on the cheek Garrett raced off, leaving a bemused group of adults in his wake.

"Paigey?" Dean repeated, lips twitching in amusement.

Paige stood and pointed a threatening finger at him. "Don't even _go _there, Winchester," she warned.

Dean held up his hands in surrender and laughed.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Dean was on his way to bed after helping Mary clean up when a noise in the library distracted him. He was almost positive he'd have a permanent bump on his head compliments of the damn wooden spoon she kept smacking him on the head with and idly wondering if she'd caused him any brain damage as he knocked softly on the door before pushing it open.

"Hey," he yawned when he saw Paige sitting there, drumming her fingers on the desk. "Why are you still up? You said you were headed to bed an hour ago."

Paige shrugged. "Couldn't sleep," she admitted.

He rubbed his eyes as he strolled across the room and grabbed her hand, tugging it until she stood up, ignoring the way she was glaring at him. He plopped down into the chair and pulled her down into his lap in the same motion.

She stiffened, glaring down at him. Dean's head had dropped back against the top of the chair, exposing the curve of his throat and neck. This close, she could see the stubble that darkened his chin.

"Relax," he rebuked her without opening his eyes. "At least you're not straddling me," he pointed out, smirking.

Paige snorted and resisted the urge to slap him across the face. "In your dreams, pretty boy," she mocked.

Dean chuckled but didn't open his eyes, winding an arm around her waist and shifting his weight so that the chair tipped back. She yelped as she was abruptly thrown off balance, landing partway on his chest. He settled his feet on the corner of the desk and crossed them at the ankle, pleased that she was now mostly leaning on him.

"Dean," she said in a warning tone.

"Why can't you sleep?" he wondered gently, finally lifting his head to look at her. She was glaring at him, her cheeks slightly flushed, and he was suddenly seized with the urge to kiss her. He shoved that urge down quickly. "What your dad said?" he guessed, easily reading her expression.

Paige bit her lip, partway relieved and partway annoyed that he knew her so well. "Yes," she admitted finally, shifting her body around until her legs hung over the side of the chair. She curled her body in on itself until she was resting entirely against his chest, her back fitting into the curve of his arm, her cheek pillowed on his shoulder. She inhaled his comforting scent, a mix of gun oil, leather, and his cologne, and closed her eyes.

"You don't have to forgive her right away, you know," said Dean gently, rubbing her back.

"I know," Paige said quietly. "A part of me wants to try, but the bigger part of me . . . it's hurt and angry and wants to stay mad just to spite her."

"I don't blame you," he said with a shrug.

"Enough about me, though," she said, lifting her head to study his expression. "Are you ever going to tell me what's bothering you so much?"

Dean blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You tense when your brother is mentioned, snap out an explanation about Stanford, and act like a cranky bear for the rest of the day," Paige pointed out gently, watching the emotions filter across his face. "Ever since you've been back you haven't said a word about your family, other than the explanation that your dad dragged you off against your will."

He inhaled deeply and exhaled long and slow, gathering his thoughts. "It was a big fight," he admitted. "Colossal. I didn't know what was happening . . . it was all so fast, so loud, and so angry. The things they said to each other were awful, Paige. Sam was acting like a spoiled five-year-old, and my dad was acting like a selfish asshole.

"When dad told Sam what he did, I was shocked. I was sure Sam would stay. But he didn't. He just yelled 'fine' and walked out anyway," he finished, voice barely above a whisper.

"What did your dad say?"

" 'If you walk out that door, don't you _ever _come back, boy' ," Dean said flatly, with absolutely no emotion. Paige internally winced at the harshness of the words. When his eyes met hers again, they were guarded. "Can we not talk about this, please?"

Paige smiled. "You're right," she agreed tiredly. "It's Christmas. We should be talking about happy stuff."

Dean had no comment for that, this was the first Christmas he'd had since he was four, from the Christmas tree to opening presents (a new pair of cowboy boots from Brad, a new rifle from Paige, his own hunting journal from Chris, among many other things), to the cheerful breakfast, to snowball fights outside and the Christmas dinner with the entire extended Newbern clan. The table had sat seventy-three people, a miracle in itself.

So, he was remarkably startled when she leaned down, her blonde hair framing her face and tickling his cheeks, forming a sort of curtain around their heads. The faint flowery scent of her shampoo filled his nostrils, making him go a little light-headed. He stared up at her, eyes wide in surprise as he waited to see what she would do. Her hands cupped his cheeks, warm fingers sliding across his scratchy stubble, before her lips pressed tenderly to his forehead.

"You're a good man, Dean," she told him, looking him straight in the eye. "When you're ready to talk about it, I'm all ears."

A warmth spread through him, filling his every pore, every dark recess of his heart, mind, and soul. He felt liberated, he felt . . . cherished, almost. His hands covered hers on his cheeks, thumbs stroking over the soft skin, and he smiled.

"Thank you," he told her, turning his head slightly to kiss her palm.

No other words were needed.

* * *

><p><strong>Eugene, Oregon<br>**University of Oregon  
>Rollins Family Apartment<br>January 7, 2001

Paige was jerked awake from a deep sleep by the sound of the phone going off. Mumbling under her breath she flipped it open and sat up, rubbing her eyes as she said a tired hello.

"_Hi, sweetheart,_" Debbie said. "_I'm so sorry I woke you, but Garrett had a nightmare and is refusing to even lay back down until he talks to you."_

"Okay," she yawned, tapping her cheeks in an effort to wake herself up a little more. "Go ahead and put him on."

In the background, she heard Debbie's soothing voice persuading Garrett to take the phone, and then the sounds of a shuffle as she was passed along.

"_Hello?" _Garrett's little voice said, a little breathlessly.

"Hey, little man," she greeted him. "Mommy told me you had a nightmare. You want to talk about it?"

"_It was scary," _he sniffed. She could picture the tears welling in his eyes. _"You an…an…and Chris, you went away, and you didn't come back like you promised."_

Her heart positively melted at his words. "I'm coming back soon, bud," she assured him. "I just have to wait for Auntie Summer to have her baby, remember?"

"_When will you come home?"_

"I'm not sure, sweetheart. Soon, I hope. Auntie Summer's baby was due yesterday, so it should be anytime now."

"_Oh,_" Garrett sniffed. "_So you'll come home?"_

"Soon," Paige promised gently.

"_I miss you._"

Paige smiled, wishing she could wrap him up tight in her arms and kiss the top of his head. "I miss you too, Garebear."

"_Can you sing to me?" _

"Of course. What would you like me to sing tonight?"

"_Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?"_

"Sure," she said gently, clearing her throat of the last vestibules of sleep. She started singing in a low, soft voice, and repeated the song a few times until she heard Garrett's sleepy sigh.

"_Love you, Paigey_," he mumbled.

"Love you too, Garebear."

"_Thank you, honey,_" said Debbie softly. Paige pictured her leaving her brother's room and going out into the hall, leaving the door cracked behind her. "_He was scared out of his wits when he came into our room._"

"No problem," she yawned. "I'm going back to sleep now," she added, making her mom laugh.

"_Let us know as soon as that baby is born_," Debbie said sternly.

"Yes, mom," she said, rolling her eyes. "G'night."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

**January 8-10, 2001**

That night had been the first sleepless night out of a long list of sleepless nights, Paige mused. Garrett had nightmares for the two nights after that, and she sang to him both times until he fell asleep. The second night, right after she got off the phone, Tim came racing into the room like a madman, dragging her to the car. Summer was apparently having contractions, but as soon as they got to the hospital, they were confirmed to be just Braxton Hicks contractions, and therefore, a false alarm.

So, they'd headed back to Tim and Summer's house, which had become quite crowded. Her parents David and Theresa were there, as were her four older siblings from previous marriages and Kyle, who was on leave until Saturday. Tim's brother was in jail and he had no parents, so nobody from his hometown came, with exceptions for his best friend Jason. Needless to say, it was quite a number of people crammed into such a small space.

The days were tense, waiting for the baby to come. Summer was short-tempered and irritable, annoyed that so many people were hovering around her and at the sudden cramped space of his otherwise spacy apartment. Mostly, she just wanted the baby _out, _and bellowed that at anyone within earshot regardless of whether they knew her or not. She'd also gotten in the habit of chucking anything she could reach at her husband, which would account for the reason that anything loose or not plugged into the wall was now crammed in the closet under the stairs.

Tim took it all in stride, well aware at how impossible pregnant women were to deal with. It had been an up and down rollercoaster after their honeymoon and they'd started college. Summer had a few friends but most of the people around them mocked her and talked about her behind her back for being pregnant. She'd managed to survive her first semester of school and would be taking the second semester off to take care of their baby while Tim focused on school and football.

By the tenth, Ally and her parents had arrived as well, though they elected to stay in a hotel as soon as they realized just HOW cramped the Rollins' apartment was. Connie teleported in that morning, scaring Paige half to death while she was making two pots of coffee in the kitchen, one of those pots decaf for Summer, as she was unable to consume caffeine. Chris and Amy elected to stay home, seeing as he had a ranch to run and they had a baby of their own, but Elliot came out, too, to lend his support. John and Mary left Brad in charge of Red Hill Ranch and came out as well to witness the birth of their first "Great-grandchild".

Finally, on the afternoon of the tenth, Summer's spine suddenly straightened, her hand going to her swollen stomach in alarm.

"It's time," she announced calmly, which led to a bedlam of cars, diaper bags, comfortable clothes, blankets, food, the panicked father-to-be and the annoyed mother-to-be. Somehow they all got the hospital in one piece, though the hospital staff was a little overwhelmed by the giant group of people all trying to tell them what was going on at the same time.

Eventually Elliot bellowed for them all to shut up and calmly explained to the nurse that Summer was in labor. That got the ball rolling, and was then a whirlwind of needles, doctors, babbling about how dilated Summer was, the works. They gave her an epidural late that night to lessen the pain of the crippling contractions, which Summer cursed her mother for the entire time, seeing as she'd inherited that particular problem from her mother.

"It hurt like hell bringing you into this world too, dear," Theresa told her cheerfully, to which Summer just glared.

Eventually Summer kicked out everyone but Tim, her parents, Paige, Ally, and Connie, who she demanded be allowed to stay through the birthing, mostly for moral support. Connie had to leave―she hated the smells of hospitals, it was murder on her super sensitive nose―and Ally squeaked at the first sight of blood and nearly fainted, so out she went, too.

"Wussies," Summer grunted through a contraction, squeezing Tim's hand so tightly she cut off circulation.

Towards the end Summer got extremely demanding. She wanted ice chips, and she wanted them now. Her hair had to be braided. Tim needed to move off the side of the bed so she could get into a more comfortable position. Paige needed to stop telling her "you'll be fine" or she'd put a fist through her face.

She actually did attempt to put her fist through Doctor Smith's face when he told her it was time for the final push.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK I'VE BEEN _DOING_ FOR THE PAST TWO HOURS?" she bellowed.

Paige tried valiantly not to laugh as Tim cheered her on, Summer cussing him out with a vocabulary colorful enough to make everyone but in the room but Paige blush. She'd picked most of it up from Noah, so there wasn't much she hadn't heard before, anyway.

And then, at three seventeen on the morning of January 11, 2001, Tim and Summer's baby boy was born into the world screaming his head off. He continued to scream his head off while the cord was cut, he was cleaned, weighed, and measured, and finally swaddled and put into his crying mother's arms.

"What's his name?" Paige wondered from her spot beside the bed, watching the two parents beaming down at the new life they had created. Tears slipped down Tim's cheeks as well as Summer's.

"Alexander," Summer said with a soft smile. "Alexander Timothy Rollins."

Paige smiled. "It's a good name," she said gently, with a kind smile.

Summer smiled at her friend. "Thank you for staying," she said, reaching over to squeeze Paige's hand.

"You're welcome, though I sincerely hope I don't have to sit through this again anytime soon," she joked, squeezing Summer's hand back. "Congratulations, guys. He's . . ." she trailed off, searching for the proper word.

"Ugly?" Summer supplied with a laugh. "He looks like a wrinkled little old man. That's okay, though. John Bradley looked the same way, until he got all his new baby squishiness and became totally adorable."

The three adults laughed as the baby was passed to a silently crying David, who was beaming proudly down at his newborn grandson, and then to a beaming Theresa, who made cooing noises down at the now-calm infant.

"We have a question for you," Summer said, leaning back against Tim's chest. At some point he had slid behind her in the bed and was now refusing to move. Elliot came into the room, led by David, and looked both uneasy and happy for the new parents.

Nurses carted Alexander off eventually, leaving the adults in the room.

"We want you two to be his godparents," said Tim, looking from Elliot to Paige. "We've decided that if anything ever happened to us, you two would be the best at raising him."

Elliot and Paige were stunned. "Godparents?" she repeated, surprised. "Seriously?"

"You trust me with your kid?" said Elliot at the same time, eyes wide.

"Yes, Paige, and yes, Elliot, we do. You're great with John Bradley."

"We'd be honored," Paige grinned, elbowing her cousin hard in the ribs. He parroted the words, looking like he'd just been zapped by something electric.

Paige leaned back in her chair, glad that it was over and she had a new "nephew" to dote over along with John Bradley.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<br>**January 15, 2001

Dean looked up from his dad's journal, where he'd been comparing his dad's hunts to the one he and Chris had returned from yesterday. Paige pushed open the door the rest of the way and shuffled into the library. She looked exhausted. "Hey," he greeted her warmly. "Welcome back." He stood as she neared him, frowning when she made no response and instead threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. Surprised, he hugged her to him. "Is this one of those 'Paige needs a hug' moments?" he wondered curiously.

Paige nodded. "It was awful," she grumbled. "There was so much blood, and it was gross, and messy, and . . ."

He hadn't the faintest clue what in the hell she was talking about.

"I _never _want to have to see that again," she continued, voice muffled in his jacket. "_Ever_."

"You mean childbirth?" he wondered, eyebrows shooting up. "I thought you were all 'miracle of life' when it came to that kind of stuff?"

"I am," she said, finally lifting her head. "But it was _horrible_. Summer was in so much pain . . . but it seemed like it was all worth it to her, in the end. Still, though . . ." When she shuddered, his arms pulled her in closer, enveloping her in his warmth and scent.

Dean just hugged her tighter, tucking her head under his chin. He knew she'd never had a boyfriend, and soft of wondered if she even know _how _the whole getting pregnant thing worked. As soon as that thought entered his mind he dismissed it. She had a billion male cousins. Of _course _she would know the finer points of sex.

He would have smacked himself on the forehead, but wasn't willing to give up this rare moment of intimacy between them.

"I doubt _you _would want to see that."

Dean paled at the thought. "I'll pass," he said quickly, barely suppressing a shudder. She smiled at the hint of panic in his voice. It was, after all, one of the few things on earth that genuinely freaked out every member of the male population. "Maybe if it was my kid," he relented after a moment. An image suddenly flashed through his mind of Paige, her stomach rounded with child . . . _his _child. A boy or girl with her blonde hair and his green eyes . . .

Surprisingly, the image wasn't appalling at all, which was appalling. Never in his life had he ever thought about kids with any particular woman, figured it didn't fit into the lifestyle, not even super bendy Lisa Braeden or even Cassie, who he'd actually loved. Now, though . . . the image was far from repulsive. If anything it was extremely appealing.

_One step at a time, Dean_, he reminded himself. She needed to fall in love with him before he could even think about kids, or marriage, for that matter.

"Alexander Timothy," she said, drawing him back to the moment. "That's what they named him."

"Strong name," he said, rocking them both gently from side to side. Her forehead was resting against his collarbone, the heat of his body seeping into her and warding off the chill of the January afternoon.

"They made me and Elliot his godparents."

"Congrats." He frowned. "I think."

"Yeah. He'll be a spoiled little dude, that's for sure. Grandpa actually _cried _when he held him and he's not even his real grandchild . . . might as well be, though."

Dean made a faint hmming noise of agreement. "Too bad Summer's determined to keep her new family away from hunting. You probably won't see him much."

"I know," she sighed, her breath fanning across Dean's neck. She liked the way his voice rumbled through his chest, the deep timbre of it when he was talking quietly and seriously. It lost the arrogant edge, the mocking undertone. His heartbeat was strong and steady under her ear as she counted silently in her head, thirty-eight beats per minute by her count. A young, athletic, strong heart, her grandfather would say.

He rested his cheek on the top of her head, content to just hold her. It was rare she allowed such closeness between them, though it had become more frequent in the months since he'd been back. She was warm and soft in his arms and her hair smelled nice, some kind of flowery scent. Sometimes it was hard to connect this woman with the badass hunter he knew she was capable of being.

The door opening made both of them jump, as Chris came in with John Bradley in his arms. He stopped with one hand on the doorknob and stared at them in surprise, even more surprised when his sister made no move to pull away from Dean, who was watching him with both eyebrows raised.

"I needed a hug," said Paige, not explaining herself any further. It wasn't like she needed to, anyway, they weren't doing anything wrong. "It's been a hell of a long and stressful week."

"I'll say," Chris joked, as the two finally pulled apart. "You sure you're not dating?"

Dean and Paige glared at him, making Chris hide a smile. They weren't, not yet, but he was standing by his bet they would get together eventually. He had two hundred bucks riding in the pool his brothers had made, betting whether or not the two would get together. Even Ally, Connie, Summer, Jillian, and Katie had joined the pool.

John Bradley was cooing, arms waving in the air.

"Hey, little man," Paige said, lifting the baby from her brother's arms before Chris could protest. She nuzzled the baby's cheeks, making him giggle. "I swear, you get bigger every time I see you!"

"It's been, like, four days," Chris pointed out dryly, grinning at his sister. John Bradley positively adored both his aunts. He was waving his fists in the air and "talking", or rather, making the cooing and gargled noises that babies made when they were happy.

Dean watched her, head tilting slightly to one side, an expression of intense concentration on his face. He liked it, he realized; he _liked_ the image of her with a baby cradled in her arms, making silly faces and mimicking the noises he was making. Did he want kids? He'd never really thought about it that much. Having a child was simply not something he'd ever thought he would have a chance to do, but now, with a fellow hunter who came from a family of hunters, would it be possible? _Could _he get the best of both worlds?

He glanced over at Chris and was seized with the instinct to look guilty, but smoothed his face to blank. Chris had a knowing glint in his eye and a smirk on his face. Frowning now, he gave Chris a hard glare that only made the stubborn man's damn smirk widen further.

Dean sighed and braced himself for the teasing that would come later.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<br>**January 24, 2001

The barn was blessedly warm as Dean led Donas back to his stall and unbuckled his halter, sliding it off his head while he murmured gently to the agitated stallion.

"There you go, bud, nice and warm," he soothed, rubbing Donas' forehead as he closed the stall door and latched it. It was, too; warm that is. Outside it was _freezing_. They'd gotten a snow storm earlier that morning, and it had come pretty much out of nowhere.

"Hey," Paige said as she walked up behind him, a small grin on her face, hands behind her back.

"Hey," he replied suspiciously, hanging Donas' halter on the hook outside his stall. "You're up early."

"I'm always up early," she responded cheerfully, meaning she'd already had her customary three cups of coffee. "Besides, it's the cattle drive today. _And _it's your birthday."

Now he was _really _suspicious. "I'm aware." Dean wrinkled his nose. He hadn't liked his birthday much since he was four, and tended to ignore it whenever it rolled around. Besides, it was practically a tundra outside. Okay, not really. There was barely any snow. It was just really cold. Like, really, _really _cold.

"Soooo," she drawled, "I got you a present." With a flourish, Paige pulled a dark brown Stetson from behind her back and settled it on his head. He reached up automatically to pull it off again, frowning at her, studying it intently.

He raised an eyebrow and raised his eyes to meet hers. "What's this for?"

"You'll be the only person without one," she shrugged with a small smile. "Besides, it keeps the snow out of your face, for the most part. Happy Birthday, Dean."

Dean was moved. He hadn't gotten a birthday present in…well, a long time. He smiled at her, really smiled, and set it on his head, pushing it down. It felt weird, but not in a bad way. "Thank you," he said, pulling her into a hug.

"You're welcome," Paige responded, hugging him back. She looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Oh, and you might want to tack up Wrath before my grandpa makes you sleep out in a snowdrift."

He snorted as she pulled away and with a small wave, jogged out of the barn, no doubt to get Cisco out of the paddock. Shaking his head, he rested his arms on the top of Donas' stall, flicking the brim of his hat.

"What do you think, boy?" he wondered, raising an eyebrow at the stallion. "Does it make me look like a cowboy?"

Donas paused chewing long enough to snort loudly and shake his mane before sticking his head back in the manger. If horses could roll their eyes, Dean would bet Donas would do it right then.

"I'll take that as a yes. Besides, what would you know anyway, you're a _Warmblood_."

The horse glared at him and pointedly turned around until his rump was facing the eldest Winchester son. Dean laughed and shook his head. Sometimes, he really _did _wonder if Donas understood when they talked to him.

And, chuckling, he headed off to the tack room to get his saddle . . . he really didn't want to have to sleep in a snowdrift.

"What game are you playing at, Dean?"

Dean looked up to see Chris standing in the doorway. He paused for a second before shoving the saddle the rest of the way onto the rack. "What game?" he repeated, eyebrows raised. "I have no clue what you're talking about, man."

"With my sister."

"Ah. That." Dean was distracted, rooting around in one of the bins for Paige's hoof pick. She'd kill him if he'd lost it, he'd had it in here earlier, just couldn't remember where he'd put the damn thing.

Chris waited, but Dean didn't elaborate. "Dude," he said angrily, drawing himself up to his full height, four inches more than Dean. "That's my _sister_."

"I know," Dean said quickly, holding his hands up as his attention returned to the taller man. He studied Chris for a second. "You're not going to punch me, are you?" he said after a long pause.

"No," Chris said quizzically, some of the anger deflating. "At least, not yet," he amended. "Why do you ask?"

"Noah decked me once, and we were, like, sixteen. I'd hate to see what would happen if he decked me _now_." Dean's jaw ached in memory of that powerful punch. "I like my face the way it is, thanks very much, and he hits hard."

"Yeah, he does," Chris agreed with a slight smile. "Seriously, though, dude. What are your intentions with my sister?"

"I don't know," Dean said honestly, looking away with mixed expressions on his face.

Chris had seen all he needed to know, though, and walked away with a half-smile, leaving their resident Bad Boy Hunter to brood in the quiet of the tack room.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Dude, he's got it _bad_," Chris announced, plopping down on the couch between Kyle and Jared.

"Who's got what bad?" Jared wondered absently, eyes on the TV screen as he reached across Chris and seized a handful of popcorn, unceremoniously shoving it in his mouth.

"Dean," he continued, swiping the popcorn bowl from Cole's unsuspecting hands. "Only he hasn't quite figured it out yet."

"Dean's got what? STDs?" Kyle snickered at his own joke, that is, until Chris and Noah turned a glare on him and he sobered. Sort of. He still had a stupid grin on his face.

Chris shared a significant look with Noah. "He's got it _bad_," he emphasized, with one eyebrow raised.

"Good to know," Noah shrugged, taking a handful of popcorn and shoving it in his mouth. "Dos' mea' I don' wanna kill 'im, 'o."

"English, dude," Chris said mildly. "I don't speak mouth-full-of-food."

"'ull'hit."

"It's not_ bullshit,_" he countered, as Noah smirked. He cursed; he'd walked right into that one. "Damn. Fine, I speak mouth-full-of-food, you psychopathic frat boy."

Noah swallowed and grinned widely. "Do I get to kill him if he hurts her?" he wondered aloud.

"Get in line, pal," Chris muttered, but grinned back, until he saw the TV and his expression shifted to one of male indignation. "KYLE! Why in the hell are we watching some pansy ass _soap opera_ when the _National Finals Rodeo _is on?"

"Who gives a fuck about the rodeo!" Noah retorted, "Football's on!"

"Football is gay compared to the rodeo! Dude, come on―"

"Don't you have a family to go home to?"

"Shut up! Put it on the Rodeo, you asshole―"

"Football trumps horses!"

"Maybe in _your _world!"

"Um…" Kyle trailed off, uncertain, as Noah and Chris proceeded to fight over the remote. He looked around―his brothers were now in an all-out battle over the channel―and shrugged, turning up the volume. He wanted to know who was going to end up cheating on who, after all. Maybe, if he was lucky, someone would get murdered.

These shows were pretty stupid, but endlessly entertaining.

Then again, so was watching Noah dump a glass of soda over Chris' head and Chris retaliating by smashing the bowl of popcorn in Noah's face as Mary emerged from the kitchen screeching about leather furniture and waving her wooden spoon like a sword as the two young men cowered in the face of the matriarch's wrath.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<br>**February 3, 2011

The shouting coming from the barn could be heard in town, some joked. It seemed all Paige and Dean did was fight, about everything. Dean was stubbornly pursuing her and she was just as stubbornly insisting she didn't have feelings for him.

"What are _you_ doing in here?"

"What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here?"

"I LIVE here, you idiot!"

"I didn't mean it like that!"

"Then how _did _you mean it?"

"Don't you ever actually, you know, hunt?"

"Don't even _go _there, Winchester, I saved _your _sorry ass didn't I?"

"I'm perfectly capable of saving my own ass! Chris and I would have made it out fine―"

"Oh, is _that_ what they call being almost killed nowadays?"

"We were _not _almost killed!"

"He was about to chop off your _head_, Dean, I'm pretty sure that counts as 'almost killed'!"

"We had it all under control―"

"Did you, now?"

"Damn it, woman, would you quit interrupting me?"

"Did you just call me _woman_?"

"So what if I di―OW! You are a woman, damn it! OW! Hey, damn it, stop hitting me!"

"You are _such _an ass!"

"How does that make _me _an ass? You're the one hitting _me_!"

"UGH!"

Chris rolled his eyes and exchanged grins with Hank, returning his attention to the saddle in his lap that he was currently oiling.

"They've been at it for hours," he remarked, chuckling.

"I think they forgot I originally sent them in for more saddle polish," Hank grinned.

Currently, Paige and Dean had "loud conversations" like this at least twice a day. Last week they'd gotten a call on the landline from Old Bill, who had his phone on speaker, allowing the family to listen while Paige chased Dean around the candy store bellowing about the caramel he'd just tossed on her white shirt.

They fought a lot. Something was different about their relationship, though, and those closest noticed.

Things changed when Dean sat out in the barn with her all night after Storm colicked, bringing her hot chocolate and just talking to her to keep her calm, pacing circles with her as she clung so tightly to her beloved gelding's lead rope that her knuckles were white.

Things changed after she comforted him after Sam ignored yet another phone call, even going so far as to babysit his drunk ass, talking softly to him until he fell asleep with his head in her lap.

Things changed as they grew closer, and the hugs and casual touches became more frequent and took on more meaning, in the way they talked about anything and everything and when she was upset, she first looked to him for comfort.

Which, Thunder Creek as a whole concluded, was why they were fighting the mutual attraction so hard. Paige was afraid Dean's friendship would disappear if they took the relationship one step further, and Dean was afraid because he'd never wanted any woman like he wanted Paige, wanted to marry her, and for him that was terrifying because most of his life he'd been allergic to the mere _thought _of marriage.

"I CANNOT BE WITH YOU, DEAN!"

"WHY NOT!"

Dean felt the anger ebb and flow through him as he faced off with Paige in the barn. While a part of him understood where she was coming from―he was sort of a manwhore, or at least _had _been for a long time―but this was different. What frustrated him was that she couldn't _see_ that. Maybe she didn't _want _to see that.

"Why can't you be with me?" Dean demanded, advancing on her. "Give me one good reason, and I'll leave you alone."

"Dean―"

"Do you trust me?" he interrupted, eyes boring into hers. She could see the vulnerability in his gaze.

Paige couldn't bear to lie to him. She took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. "Yes," she said, quietly. "I trust you, Dean. With my life. Not my heart."

"And why don't you trust me with your heart?" he said quietly, taking another step closer. She took a step back, bringing her back in contact with the barn wall.

"You left, Dean. How do I know you won't leave again?"

Dean made a frustrated noise and threaded his fingers through his hair. "Damn it, Paige, I told you I left _because my dad needed help_. I came right back here!"

Paige made an equally frustrated noise. "I don't KNOW, okay?" she shouted, throwing her hands up in the air. "I don't _know _what I feel about you, I've never felt like this before, but God, Dean, if you…" she trailed off, looking away.

"If I what? Cheated? Died? Left you? Got bored and dumped you?" he demanded, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

"If you left again," Paige whispered, refusing to look at him. "It…it would kill me. I didn't know what to _do, _Dean. My best friend was gone, and…" Her lips pursed together, stopping mid-sentence with a small shake of her head. "I _trusted _you. But now…I don't know if I can be with you, Dean. Maybe before, but…"

"Well, we have a slight problem then," he deadpanned, "because you're already in love with me."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he took the final step towards her, boxing her in with his arms on either side of her shoulders. Paige's breath caught in her throat as her mind got muddled from his close proximity. He wasn't touching her, but the heat from his body infused into her limbs. His expression was serious, but his eyes warned her not to deny it. She couldn't help but notice how much more pronounced the gold flecks in his eyes were when he was angry.

"I don't think you're the one woman type of guy, Dean," she insisted, trying to ignore the affect he had on her.

"And how would you know that?" he challenged.

"I…" she trailed off with a huff.

"What if I told you something changed when I came here," he continued, tipping her head up with a finger under her chin. "What if I told you this time, it was different?"

Paige's knees weakened at the sudden look he got in his eyes―focus and determination shone out of those green eyes of his, and something else, something she couldn't name but had seen in his gaze before. She stiffened when his hand cupped the back of her neck, his fingers sliding through the hair. The warmth of his skin on hers made a shiver pass up her spine, one that she pointedly ignored. Or at least, tried to.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"What I should have ages weeks ago," he retorted, dragging her forward as his lips crashed down on hers. To say she was overwhelmed would be an understatement; he wiped the thoughts right from her brain when he coaxed her to open her mouth and kissed her like he'd dreamed about for years, the hand threaded in her hair pulling her head back to give him better access as his mouth slanted over hers again and again.

Dean decided she was too far away and hooked a finger in her belt loop, yanking her into his arms, his free arm wrapping around her waist to hold her there, pulling her as close as he physically could. There was no way she was getting away from him. Instead of pulling away, however, she wound her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

He pulled back before his control deserted him and he wouldn't be able to anymore, cupping the back of her neck as his other hand traced patterns up and down her spine. "You should know that I lost my heart to a certain stubborn as hell, blue-eyed girl a long time ago," he said, voice husky. "And that I don't plan on leaving, ever again. My father can go to hell."

Her eyes were dazed, lips swollen, and he was arrogantly pleased by her reaction. He gently pried her hands from his biceps, winked, and sauntered out of the barn, leaving her completely stunned behind him.

Chris backed out of the barn, grin on his face, and hurried into the house to demand his winnings.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Paige didn't know whether to be embarrassed or furious. She hadn't pushed him away, had been too startled to. She'd never been kissed before, and as first kisses went, that one had apparently been… well, anyway. Summer and Ally had apparently taken a bet on whether or not her and Dean would get together, and despite Paige's vehement refusal that they were _not_ together, Summer had won fifty bucks. She had a suspicion her brothers were all in on it too, she saw lots of money changing hands under the table at lunch.

Their immaturity wasn't helping, and she did not want to talk to Chris, Noah, Kyle, or any of the rest of the guys about it, either, because they'd probably―and by that, she meant _definitely_―kill Dean, and at the present moment she wasn't sure if she wanted him alive or dead. Connie would just murder him on the spot, so that was out of the question too.

Normally, she'd ask Dean about it.

Too bad for her that her best friend had decided it was a good idea to make out with her, tell her she had his heart, and saunter out of the barn cheeky-as-you-please.

Paige brooded about this most of the day, avoiding Dean like the plague. She skipped dinner because she was so busy trying to figure out her mixed emotions that she wasn't paying attention to the time. She was lying on her bed hugging a pillow and staring out the window when she heard her door squeak. Assuming it was one of her pesky, control-freak, over-protective-as-hell big brothers, she didn't bother to look.

And, so, was more than a little startled when Dean stretched out beside her, resting his weight on his elbows as he stared down at his clasped hands.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he said quietly, glancing over at her. Her cheeks were pink and she wasn't looking at him. He didn't regret kissing her one little bit and was reaching over to brush her hair behind her ear when he thought better of it and went back to clasping his hands together.

"Did you mean it?" Paige said after a long, tense silence, blurting it out before she thought better of it.

He'd been expecting it and answered immediately, "Every word."

Dean's light baritone was so matter-of-fact she turned her head to look at him, finding utter seriousness in his face and eyes. His lips quirked up into a ghost of his usual smile. "Do you believe me?" he wondered.

"Yes," she sighed, dropping her cheek to the pillow. His nearness was haywire on her senses. Sorting through them one at a time, she realized the butterflies in her stomach were compliments of his close proximity. She missed his warmth when he wasn't around―not just the warmth of his body, but the warmth of his smiles and general personality. Her grandpa had once explained Dean as a candle―that flickering flame was constant, warming everyone around him, but some people who got too close would burn, and others would melt.

Somehow, she had a suspicion he'd been talking about her with the melting part. Which was a little awkward, to be honest.

"Can you tell me something, Dean?"

"Depends. What do you want to know?"

Somehow, she wasn't surprised that his sarcasm was returning full force. She looked right in his eyes when she said, "How many women have you been with?"

Dean's eyebrows shot up. That one he hadn't really been expecting, at least not this soon. "Do you want me to _count _them?" he said incredulously.

"Rough estimation. Don't be an ass."

He shrugged. "A lot," he admitted. "Probably more than you need to know about."

"Do you know how many men I've been with?" Paige continued, ignoring his sarcasm. She also ignored his slight smirk as he fingered his chin.

"I don't know…three? Four?"

"None."

That caught his attention as his eyes flew to hers. "None?" he repeated, slowly, as if testing the word on his tongue. His eyes widened. "You mean…today…the barn…?"

She just wordlessly shook her head. "I've never had a boyfriend, never even been on a date," she admitted quietly.

"And you'd never been kissed, either," Dean finished for her, guilt stabbing through him. He must have scared the hell out of her today. He opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to figure out what to say. It honestly did not compute in his brain: how was it that someone as straightforward, beautiful, and kind as her had never had a boyfriend? It surprised the hell out of him―she had that effect on him a lot―and made him both angry and pleased, a strange combination. He was angry that she'd been ignored by other men, but at the same time was pleased that he'd been her first kiss.

Finally, he did what seemed right. He reached for her and pulled her into his arms, resting his cheek on the top of her head. She was stiff at first, but relaxed as soon as his arms were tight around her. Paige's arms wound around his waist. Her face was nestled in the crook of his neck, and he was perfectly content to just hold her as her breath fanned over his neck.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, squeezing her a little tighter because it seemed like the right thing to do. This was all uncharted waters for him―he was used to, uh, experienced women. He watched her face, trying to figure out what to say. She beat him to the punch, as usual.

"So, what happens now?"

Dean shrugged. "Nothing has to change," he said. "I'm still you're friend, right?"

Paige nodded, smiling slightly.

Sifting through his mind, he struggled to find something to say. "Well, good. So, I'm still you're friend, just . . . more."

Her lips quirked into an amused smile. "You've never really done this before, have you?"

He laughed and shook his head. "A real relationship?" he prodded. She nodded and raised an eyebrow. "No," he admitted with a cheeky smile. "But we'll figure something out."

Paige nodded and nestled back into his embrace, breathing in his familiar scent.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"Your heart is racing," Paige observed, seeing as her ear was pressed over his heart, its beat quickening.

"I scared you."

"I wasn't scared," she corrected him, shifting ever-so-slightly in an attempt to get more comfortable. He shifted with her, pulling her more into his embrace―she fit in his arms perfectly. He was quiet, contemplating everything that had happened today. He hadn't planned on kissing her like that, it had sort of just _happened_, and he didn't ever plan on taking it back. The expression on his face must have been intensely focused, because concern was etched all over her face.

"Dean?" she whispered, frowning. "What's the matter?"

"I don't want to hurt you," he said vaguely, turning his face away from her.

Her gentle hand on his cheek pulled his gaze back to hers. There was something different about her expression now as she gazed at him, her gaze leaning towards calculating. "I'm willing to take that risk," she told him quietly, eyes never leaving his.

Dean didn't miss the meaning behind that statement. Something jerked in his heart, something that felt suspiciously like hope. "Are you now?" he said teasingly, rubbing his nose against hers. He was serious again a moment later as he read her expression. "Are you saying you trust me with your heart?" he said slowly.

Paige just looked at him for a long moment before dropping her gaze to his throat. "I hope I don't regret it," she said simply.

He had no answer to that, so he simply pulled her back against him and relaxed. He rested his chin on the top of her head and listened to her breathing, all the while hoping that he wouldn't make her regret it―hoping even more that he wouldn't hurt her again.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<br>**February 7, 2001

Dean's shoulders were tense as he stood beside the suburban. "Where are we going?" he asked softly, directing his question at Noah.

Noah glanced over at him, pausing in shuffling the gear bags around. "Up north," he replied. "Shoshone National Forest. Hunter went missing there two days ago while hunting a black dog."

"Kind of an odd hunting time."

"The Conclave has known about this one for a while, but it's been difficult to get somebody out there. This is an active year, so he sent in one of the best right off the bat. Lost contact with her forty-seven hours ago. She never goes this long without checking in with her hunting partner."

"Which hunting partner are we talking about?"

"Her only partner," Paige said as she walked up, tossing her gear bag at Noah. "Where's Mikey?"

Dean connected the dots in his mind. So, it was Constance who was missing, then.

"Coming," Noah replied, settling her bag in with the others. "He's got a different assignment. We're dropping him off in Meeteetse, to meet up with grandpa for a hunt. Chris is already asleep in the back seat."

"Hunting what?" Paige wondered as she opened the door of the suburban, shoving her pillow and favorite blanket on the seat.

"No clue, grandpa was close-mouthed as a clam, you know how he is," Noah said, rolling his eyes as he closed the back door. Michael came trotting down the steps, cell phone at his ear, talking briskly before he nodded and said something before clicking it shut and shoving it in his pocket. "Ready to go?"

"Ready," Noah replied, getting into the driver's seat. "Dean, you're in the back with Paige."

Dean scooted across, shoving their backpacks and extra gear onto the far seat. He was in the middle, where he preferred to be, as he could see the road.

Paige climbed up and settled next to him, buckling her seat belt as Noah pulled out of the drive and headed west for the freeways that would eventually get them to the 120, which ran through Meeteetse. It was already ten by the time the drive started.

She was exhausted but fighting it, listening to Noah and Michael's soft conversation in the front seat. Her eyelids were drooping but she kept forcing them open. The soft click of a seat belt caught her attention briefly before she passed into dream land.

He started a little when Paige's head settled on his shoulder. Reaching over her, Dean gently undid her seatbelt so that she could get comfortable. Despite that, a pleased little smile curved his lips. He undid his own seat belt and turned his body slightly towards her, pulling her gently against his chest, a position that wouldn't give her a crick in the neck. He leaned back against the sleeping bag, pillow, and blanket stack, carefully spread a blanket over her sleeping form, and dropped his head to something soft and cushy he couldn't see very well in the dark.

Noah and Michael continued talking for a couple of hours, before Michael started to get a little sleepy. He turned around to ask Paige a question, but paused when he saw the scene, rubbing his eyes to double check what he was seeing was real.

Dean and Paige were dead to the world, sprawled on the back seat, with her laying most of the way on top of him, face nestled in the side of his neck. One of his arms was around her back, the other behind his head, and she had an arm hooked around his chest.

All in all, very couple-y for two individuals that claimed they most certainly were not in any kind of romantic relationship.

"How long do you think it will take for them to get serious?" said Michael, yawning as he rubbed his eyes, from tiredness this time.

Noah smiled slightly. "Oh, they already are," he drawled.

That got Michael's attention. "What do you mean?"

"They were having a ridiculous fight in the barn a few days ago," said Noah, voice mild, "something stupid I doubt they even remember, but she basically said he could never settle with just one woman. In response, he backed her up against the wall, trapped her there, and kissed her. After he pulled away he informed here there was one woman he'd already settled with, smirked, and walked out of the barn. Or something along those lines, anyway."

"He forced himself on her?" Michael demanded, vision tinting red as he started reaching for Dean's throat.

Noah grabbed his wrist. His voice was mild when he spoke. "She didn't exactly push him away, Mike."

"Well, hell. I don't like the idea of her having a, a . . . _boyfriend_." Michael spit the word as if it were poison.

"You like Dean," Noah reminded him.

"Yeah, so? Doesn't mean I appreciate him making out with my little cousin."

"She's far from little, Michael. She's five foot ten."

"Younger, moron, and you knew that's what I meant. Hell, _you_ consider her a little sister!"

Sighing raggedly, Noah shrugged. "I just want her to be happy, Michael, and if Dean can make her happy, well… we don't exactly get to protest." He smiled slightly at Michael's expression. He looked like he wanted to kill somebody. "However," he added in a deceptively mild voice, "he hurts her, and we take turns breaking every bone in his body. Agreed?"

Michael shrugged and sighed in a resigned fashion, but agreed.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Paige was perfectly warm and relaxed, enveloped in a comfortable heat. Her pillow was even warm, smelled nice, too. She smiled and breathed deeply, inhaling the scent as she nestled deeper into the lovely pillow. Her sleepy brain took a moment to catch up when a band of steel tightened ever-so-slightly around her waist. Frowning, and without opening her eyes, she curiously moved her hand to test the band, understandably startled when her fingers brushed warm skin dusted with hair. An arm.

Her eyes popped open, and for a second, she was so shocked she couldn't even process what she was seeing: the profile of a man, specifically, the strong line of the jaw, the gentle curves of his full and sensual lips, and the sharp angle of his nose.

Holy shitmonkeys, she was sleeping with Dean Winchester.

Chris was going to kill her.

Scratch that, her entire _family _was going to kill her.

Her body stiffened almost instantly, going from soft and plying to hard as steel. Dean murmured something sleepily and gently pulled her closer, resting his cheek on the top of her head as his hand rubbed lazy circles on her back, breathing deepening out almost instantly as her traitorous body relaxed slightly.

Paige didn't know whether to scream and rave at him or relax fully into his touch. A quick glance at the front seat showed it was empty, parked in front of what looked like a gas station, and Noah was clearly standing by the gas pump, his back to her. She had no idea where they were or where Michael was, but she didn't want Noah to know she was awake just yet.

Closing her eyes, Paige focused on what she was feeling. She was relaxed, for one, and felt better than she had in days. No nightmares of Connie dead in the woods somewhere, no flashbacks of the helicopter crash, just…nothing. It was the best night of sleep she'd had in a good long while. In fact, it was the best night's sleep she'd had since the hunt in Arkansas where she'd fallen asleep next to him and woken up using his bicep as a pillow.

Dean was warm, incredibly so, acting as a space heater in the otherwise chilly car. Even her hands and feet were warm, the two parts of her body that usually resembled ice cubes. He was bare-chested, she noted, and suitably muscular from what she could feel. The skin under her cheek was like warm velvet over the hard steel of his pectoral muscle.

She'd forgotten, she admitted to herself. Forgotten what it felt like to be held like this. Hugs from Chris and the guys were one thing. This was something different. It reminded her of the one other hug she'd received from Dean when he'd found her crying in the barn over the aftershock of her birth mother's cruelty. He'd pulled her close and just held her while she cried, gently stroking her hair as she soaked his chest with her tears. He'd been a teenager then, all awkward angles and sharp lines. Now he was a man, filled out and strong, and she found herself admiring his broad shoulders and the slopes of his muscular chest before she mentally shook herself back to the task at hand.

Images of the past few months conjured up before her: Dean forcing himself to learn to ride a horse, all the laughs they'd shared, and casual hugs and touches that at the time hadn't meant anything, at least to her. The way she lit up when he entered a room and how his eyes brightened when he saw her. How easily he made her smile and forget her brooding. How easily _he _had won over her entire family, even Noah, who was vicious about her protection in the best of times and downright murderous at the worst. And especially how they talked about anything and everything, how he valued her opinions and she valued his.

With a jolt, she realized she trusted him. With her life. Maybe even more than that. Did she trust him with her heart? _Could_ she trust him with her heart?

She picked up her head to study his sleeping face. This way he looked so much younger. His lips lost the firm no-nonsense line they adopted when he wasn't smirking, the lines disappeared from between his eyebrows, the ever-so-slight downward tilt of his lips disappeared. He looked almost innocent, especially with the freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose. She'd never been close enough to notice them before. She found the flaw endearing.

Biting her lip for a moment, she debated doing something she'd always been curious about. Before she could chicken out, she lifted her hand and gently ran it through his hair. It was short and silky between her fingers, a much different texture than she'd imagined.

He stirred slightly, but she didn't freeze or tense up, just kept running her fingers over his scalp. When his eyes fluttered open, she smiled down at him. Dean's hand slid up her back until he was cupping the back of her neck and pulled her down for a mind-numbing kiss.

"Hi," he uttered when he pulled away, smirking up at her dazed expression.

"Hi," she returned.

"Mmm, I could get used to this," he admitted, rolling them so that she was between him and the back of the seat. With a devilish grin, he bent his head to her neck and scraped his stubbled chin over the sensitive skin of her clavicles.

Paige arched instinctively with a giggle as the tickling sensation assaulted her.

"Was that a _giggle_, Ms. Newbern?" he teased, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Nope," she said a little breathlessly, smiling at him. "Newberns don't giggle."

"Sounded like one to me," he said, arching an eyebrow, and to prove his point scraped his chin across the top of her shoulder again, eliciting the same reaction, except that this time her fingers dug into his shoulder blades.

"Stop it," she scolded, slapping his shoulders. "Get off of me, you giant oaf."

"Oh, so I'm a giant oaf now?" he pouted. "That wasn't very nice."

Paige rolled her eyes, but the sparkle of amusement remained. She wasn't quite sure how this relationship thing worked but she was content to follow his lead for now. She was opening her mouth to reply when he was suddenly kissing her again.

Dean jerked away when the front door opened. Noah was talking on his cell phone, rooting around in the center console looking for something. He froze when he saw their precarious positions, one blonde eyebrow arching. He pressed the phone into his shoulder and grinned devilishly.

"So, when's the wedding?" he teased smugly.

Not a second later, a rolled up sleeping back thumped him in the face, knocking him back into the steering wheel and illiciting a loud honk of protest from the car.

Even Dean had to hand it to Paige―she had pretty quick reflexes.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Had fun writing this. ^.^ Hope you enjoyed! Drop me a note pretty please.

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
>:D<strong>


	30. Blackdogs, Mineshafts, and Oranges

**A/N**: Here it is, kind of really late, but what can I say, RL has been a bitch.

**Disclaimer**: I only own my OCs.

/

**Chapter Thirty  
><strong>Blackdogs, Mineshafts, and Oranges

Chris muttered something darkly under his breath and continued onward, shotgun held ready though he doubted he would need it. They didn't even know what Connie had been hunting, which was a slight problem. John hadn't been sure if it was definitely a blackdog or something else, and therefore, they had gone in with every kind of weapon they could think of. There was a small town, mostly for hunters of the animal variety and tourists on their way down from Yellowstone. In the past week three people had gone missing out in the woods.

It was definitely something, they just weren't quite sure _what_. Could have been a blackdog, but blackdogs were easy, so why had Connie been silent for so long?

"Stay close," Chris warned, as he climbed up the rocky slope, Dean and Paige behind him.

"She can't have gotten too far," Paige muttered.

/

Hours passed as the night deepened, becoming chilly. Paige kept her eyes on the lookout, entertained only by the way her breath fogged in the cold darkness. Nothing, not a sign of Connie or anyone else, for that matter. That could have been both a good thing . . . or a very, very bad thing.

Instinct warned her.

Every hair on the back of her neck and her forearms stood on end. She spun, shotgun at the ready.

From the shadows emerged the blackdog, red eyes shining in the darkness. He leapt at her, massive fangs bared, and on instinct, she jumped backwards, arms crossing over her face to protect herself.

The ground gave beneath her feet, her startled yelp drawing the attention of Dean and Chris, who whipped around just in time to see the ground buckle.

"PAIGE!"

Her descent stopped abruptly when a hand snatched her wrist in a vice grip. Dean's face was above her, his arm straining over the edge of the opening, but he had no leverage and started to fall with her. The last thing she saw was Dean's agonized green eyes, wide with shock, before they both plummeted into the darkness.

Chris leaned over the edge, cussing up a storm. "PAIGE!" he bellowed. "DEAN!"

There was no response. He shone his flashlight down what appeared to be an abandoned mine shaft but couldn't see a damn thing. Cursing, he then heard movement through the branches ahead of him. Hesitating only a moment, he did what the Brotherhood had always taught him: put the hunt first.

Heart breaking, he raced off into the underbrush after the thing he hunted, intent on killing the damn thing and hopefully finding Connie before he came back to help his sister and best friend.

/

Paige stirred to the sound of rough coughing. Every inch of her body ached, but by some miracle, none of her limbs seemed broken. She rolled over and immediately moaned in reaction to the pain that shot through her abdomen.

The coughing stopped abruptly, and scuffing of shoes over the rough rock of the floor.

Warmth touched her hip and thigh, with such gentleness it could only be Dean. He coughed again.

"You alright?" he asked hoarsely.

"I think so," she said as softly as she could. Inhaling too deeply hurt her ribs. She lifted her arm carefully and reached out, her fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt, moving outward until she felt the cool leather of his ever-present leather jacket.

Dean's hands moved down her legs, pushing the fabric out of his way as he felt for warm wetness that could signal blood, any sign of cuts or broken bones, or unusual heat that would mean an injury. He moved to her other leg, gently prodding her skin and rolling her joints.

She wiggled when he pushed her shirt upwards.

"'S not like I can see anything," he mumbled, carefully sliding his hands over her warm skin. She hissed when he brushed over a shallow cut on her ribs. When he paused, finger tracing the outline of the wound, she exhaled slowly.

"It's not deep," she promised him. "Just a scratch. Must have hit it on the way dow―"

Her cry of pain cut off the end of her sentence as he prodded her ribs. Suddenly feeling like he might be sick, he drew his hands away. "Christ, I'm sorry," he said in an agonized voice. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know," she said through gritted teeth, breathing slowly until the pain faded to bearable. "Are you done with your little examination?"

"Yes," he grumbled back, pulling her shirt back down.

"What about you? You okay?"

"Bruised and a little scratched up, but I landed on the softer dirt over behind us somewhere."

"Where the hell are we?"

"Abandoned mine shaft of some kind," he responded. "I already checked all around the perimeter. There's no way out. I think there used to be, but it's all caved in now."

That would make sense, there were mines here decades ago, but they'd been abandoned a long time ago.

"It's cold," she said softly, carefully rolling onto her side, hand groping blindly in the darkness until she found his body again. She felt his fingers twine through hers.

"I'm going to look for your pack," he told her, letting go. She heard him moving over the rocks and decided he was being louder than usual so that she could track his movements in the pitch black of their surroundings. "Ah, here it is." There was a pause, followed by what sounded like a body hitting stone. "Shit, ow, that's a wall," he muttered darkly, making her giggle.

Dean rolled his eyes and made his way carefully over to her, waving his hand around like a blind man. As soon as he knew for sure where she was, he started rooting around in her pack, using touch as a guide to pull free her sleeping blankets and one of the rougher spare blankets.

"I don't suppose you have a flashlight in here?"

"Not really, no," she admitted, coughing again and moaning as it jostled her ribs. She was starting to shiver. "They're in Chris' pack, I think."

"Great," he grumbled, using his hands to seek out a mostly flat area and spread out the blankets save one.

Paige started slightly when his arms slid under her neck and knees. "I can walk, you know," she protested as he lifted her into his arms.

"Sure you can," he agreed, stepping gingerly back over to their makeshift pallet.

Dean leveraged them both down carefully, settling her across his thighs and leaning against the wall, shifting her until she was resting in the curve of his shoulder, her forehead on pressing into the side of his neck.

"How the hell did we survive that, Dean?" she asked, already getting lulled into sleep by his body heat.

"I have no idea," he said softly, shifting around until they were laying down on the thick mat of blankets and were both comfortable.

"Must have angels watching over us tonight," Paige murmured sleepily.

He wrapped the blanket around them both, enfolded her in his arms, and fell into a fretful sleep.

Blue eyes glinted in the darkness.

/

This blackdog was smarter than he'd given it credit for.

He'd been knocked to the ground and was momentarily stunned from the impact. It leapt at him, claws forward, reeking of death, red eyes glowing with malice. He racked his shotgun, pointed it at the thing, and prayed he'd make it. His finger squeezed the trigger, his heart hammering so loud he could hear nothing else—

"AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHH!"

A figure slammed into the side of the blackdog, sending them both tumbling down the grassy slope and into the night. Chris rolled back to his feet, shocked, and picked his way carefully down the slope. He could hear human-sounding grunting and wet, feral-sounding growls; the sounds of a scuffle on a rough patch of dead grass.

There was a wet-sounding _thunk _followed by a high-pitched yip, and then, silence.

Cautiously, Chris continued to the base of the hill and around a tiny tree, flashlight in one hand and sidearm in the other. The beam fell across dirt-and-blood-streaked blonde hair.

Constance looked up at him, her face smeared with dirt and grime and slime. Blood dribbled from a split in her lip that had swollen it to nearly twice its normal size. Her clothes were tattered and torn, her left arm patched up with what appeared to be the bottom half of her overshirt. One of her boots was missing, exposing a long-boned foot that was so dirty it was black and had wet grass sticking to the skin of her ankle.

Chris wiped a hand over his forehead, cursing the Gods and praising them in the same breath.

"Connie, damn it, you scared the _shit _out of me," he snapped, glaring at her. That glare softened as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it at her. "What the hell happened?"

"This thing happened," she grumbled, jerking her thumb at the now-dead blackdog. "You have any salt and lighter fluid? The damn thing knocked my pack down a ravine a few days back. Been tracking the bastard on foot for almost three days."

"Where's your gun?" he wondered as he pulled the needed items out of his pack.

"Lost it."

Chris blinked. "So what did you use to kill it then?"

She held up a knife, the blade coated in black blood that dripped onto the dirty skin of her wrist.

"You look like hell," he observed as he salted the body and added generous amounts of lighter fluid before striking a match and throwing it down.

"No shit, Sherlock," Constance growled, sitting and yanking off her remaining boot, giving it a good shake. Three tiny rocks fell out and clattered onto the stones. Muttering under her breath, she tugged it back onto her foot and laced it up.

Chris reached across to pluck a stick and some leaves out of her tangles. "You look like a wildwoman," he sniggered.

"Shut it," she warned, shoving him sideways into a giant rock. "I assume you brought Noah?"

"No, he's in Meteetsee with grandpa," Chris admitted with an apologetic shrug.

"You came _alone_?"

He rolled his eyes "Of course not."

"Then who'd you bring?"

"Dean and Paige."

Connie groaned. "Great. The lovebirds."

"Yeah, well, get situated, pal, cuz they fell down a mineshaft and we need to go rescue their sorry asses."

They waited until the blackdog was destroyed and stamped out the embers to prevent a fire. Without a word, Chris stepped back into the darkness, intent on getting back to his sister before she froze to death.

Connie sighed and pulled her hair up into a makeshift ponytail, ripping out a few leaves in the process. "And here I was hoping for a nice warm shower," she groaned, but all the same, got up to follow him into the darkness, leaving the blackdog as nothing but ashes behind them.

/

"They're down here," Chris said, pointing.

Connie stared at him. "Okay," she said slowly. "Why are you looking at me like I own the answer to all the mysteries in the universe?"

"Grandpa briefed me on your gifts," he explained. "So, use them," he flapped his hands towards the gaping hole in the earth, "to get them back. Teleport, or whatever."

"Dude, I can't teleport to somewhere I can't _see_," she protested hotly, voice rising an octave. "I could end up _inside the wall_!"

Chris glared at her. "Time's wasting."

"Give me a rope, you moron," she sighed impatiently, gesturing. "Lower me down, and I'll teleport them _out_."

He glared. "Fine."

She glared back. "_Fine_."

Flashlight held like a beacon, Connie was slowly lowered into the dark mine shaft, dodging jutting-out rocks on her way down. It would be a miracle if they were both alive.

At the bottom, she spotted them just to her left, huddled and apparently unconscious beneath a mound of the sleeping bags and camp blanket. Reaching down, she shook Dean's shoulder, but he didn't respond. When she touched his cheek it was icy beneath her fingers.

Wasting no more time, Connie grabbed each of their arms, pictured the top of the shaft where Chris was, and with a faint _pop _they materialized before him.

"Whoa," Chris breathed, eyes as wide as saucers.

"I get that a lot," she griped, struggling with the combined weight of her friends. "Grab on, pretty boy, these two need a hospital _yesterday_."

With another faint pop, all four hunters vanished from the spot.

Silently, a red-haired man in a tan trench coat stepped out of the cavernous hole that Paige and Dean had just been rescued from. He glanced around, brushed himself off calmly, and with a _whoosh,_ vanished from sight.

/

**Cheyenne, Wyoming  
><strong>February 8, 2001

This, Connie decided, was the very_ definition _of awkward.

Maybe it was due to the fact that Dean Winchester was standing in the doorway to the Cheyenne hotel room in nothing but his boxers and a plain white T-shirt, with his hair mussed and 5 o'clock shadow darkening his jaw, eyes still partway bleary with sleep.

Maybe it was because Dean suddenly felt extremely naked, even though he had a layer of clothes on.

More likely, though, it was because this doorway just-so-happened to be to Paige's hotel room, who seemed to be absent from the premises even though she'd just gotten out of the hospital and was supposed to be resting. For that matter, so was Dean.

So, Connie stared at Dean.

Dean stared at Connie.

Neither said a word.

Neither was quite sure _what _to say.

Finally, Dean rubbed the back of his head with one hand, raising an eyebrow at Paige's hunting partner. Though he tried not to, his tone came out defensive. "Can I help you?"

Connie finally found her voice. "The _hell_ do you think you're doing?" she bit out.

"Well, I _was _sleeping," he responded irritably. "Is it something important, or can I go back to sleep now?"

Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, not quite sure how to phrase what she wanted to say. "I seem to recall threatening to chop your balls off and _feed _them to you, Winchester―"

Dean's palm smacked his forehead. "Can we have this discussion when it's _not _three o'clock in the morning?" he demanded, done with being nice. "I'm tired and would like to go back to bed."

Connie moved to enter the room. Dean blocked her path easily, one hand on the doorway, the other grasping the knob of the door in question and pulling it until it rested against his right shoulder blade. Him doing so blocked her path, kept her from seeing into the room, and gave her a healthy glimpse of flexing muscles all at the same time.

"No way," he said defensively. "She's _asleep_, damn it, leave her alone."

She glared up at him.

He glared back.

"It's important," Connie hissed.

"It's _always _important," he hissed back, eyes narrowing to slits.

"I have to pee."

Dean blinked. "What?"

"I have to pee," she repeated, taking the opportunity to push past him into the room. Before he could stop her she entered the bathroom and shut the door. Cursing now, he made his way to the window and peered out through the curtains, more irritated than ever that their sleep was being disrupted. Again.

Connie took her time plotting her course of action. She clicked off the light and moved soundlessly from the bathroom, making sure the door didn't squeak. Glee filled her as she plotted her attack―

―and abruptly faded at the scene before her.

Dean was angled away from her, staring out over the city. Paige stood behind him, leaning against his back, her cheek resting between his shoulder blades and hands resting on his chest. One of his hands covered hers, and as she watched, he pulled the other up so that he could kiss her palm before settling it back onto his chest. That way she saw the man's profile, the angles of his face she'd never really noticed before, and realized suddenly that he was handsome and that his eyelashes were ridiculously long.

Constance had the sudden urge to gag.

They were so cute it was _nauseating_.

His head turned, eyes meeting hers. He stiffened slightly and Paige's tired eyes opened, meeting hers as well.

"Hey," Paige yawned.

"Hi," Connie awkwardly returned.

"You can sleep here if you want."

Connie didn't miss the way Dean stiffened at the words, another challenge entering his eyes as he opened his mouth to protest.

"That one," Paige added, pointing to the queen bed with the covers undisturbed. He immediately relaxed, closing his mouth.

Connie refrained from wondering why she was wearing only one of Dean's T-shirts, but decided just as quickly that she didn't want to know. She also didn't particularly want to know why he'd reacted so strongly to not being able to sleep with her. Next to her, she thought quickly, pushing that image aside.

"We slept together, Connie," said Paige, amused when Connie spluttered. "And no, I don't mean the 'did the deed' version of slept together. I mean we slept. As in, closed our eyes and fell asleep."

"Okay, geez, I get it," she insisted, holding up her hands. "Thank you for the _lovely_ mental image."

Connie settled her stuff in the corner of the room and listened to the covers rustling and their hushed voices. They would have been hushed, if she didn't have such good hearing, anyway.

"You look tired," Paige told him, punctuating her statement with a yawn.

"I am," he replied, reaching for her. She didn't resist him when he pulled her securely against his chest and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"Go to sleep then."

"I would, if I could be sure she's not going to _castrate _me in my _sleep_," he responded with a laugh, a low rumble.

It reminded Connie strangely of a lion's purr.

"She won't," Paige promised, burrowing into his warmth and safety, her eyes already shut. "She'll answer to me."

"Mmm, that's comforting," he replied, nuzzling his face into her hair.

Connie listened to Paige's breathing slow and deepen out, followed by Dean a moment later. She was glad for her friend, even if Dean wasn't exactly easy to get along with. Sighing contentedly, she burrowed under her own covers, glad she didn't have to share.

Paige had always been such a blanket hog…

/

Breakfast the next morning was entertaining, to say the least.

Chris was in town gathering up information for the next hunt, taking Noah along with him. Somehow, the blonde giant had been dragged along; how, Connie wasn't quite sure, because he was so erratic in his visits she'd given up trying to keep track of when he was deployed or not deployed, because sometimes it was for nine days, other times, six months.

Dean had woken up first to take a shower. The smell of freshly-brewed coffee and his low, husky voice was what had woken Connie from her dreamless slumber, though he had not been talking to her, though he had somehow gained the foresight to grab a cup of coffee for her, too. Somehow he'd managed to get Paige out of bed and into the shower without her beheading him, so Connie concluded she must feel _something _for him.

Even Noah and Chris got heavy objects launched at their person unless they had a cup of steaming coffee in their hand when they woke her up. More than once they'd been punched, kicked, or bitten. Gotten kicked a few times in the balls, too, she imagined.

Then again, Connie wasn't much better. Instead of hitting, punching, and biting though, she snapped her fingers and made water dump on their heads. Or set their pants on fire, though she'd only done that once, and to Kyle because he'd woken her up by waving a feather under her nose.

Eventually the three of them went down to the continental breakfast.

Dean and Paige fell into routine, seeming to forget that she was there. So, curious, Connie hovered behind them, wanting to see what they would do.

"Do you want honey?" Dean wondered, his tone teasing.

"How many times have we had this conversation?" she shot back. "I don't eat honey with breakfast." He opened his mouth to retort, but he quickly slapped her hand over his lips. "If you say it one more time, I'm throwing this orange at your head." She hefted said orange threateningly, giving him a dark look.

His eyes crinkled when he smiled under her hand, and Connie noticed with abstract fascination that Dean Winchester had a dimple.

A _dimple_.

She was teasing him about _that_ one for the rest of his days. . .

As soon as Paige pulled her hand away and took a step forward, Dean opened his mouth and said smugly, "Even if it's off me?"

An orange slammed into his forehead, knocking his head back, but he only caught it before it hit the ground and shook his head in amusement. A rich chuckle filled the room, causing several of the women in the vicinity to glance over at him, caught up by the appealing sound.

Connie glared daggers into their skulls and they returned hastily to their breakfasts.

"Ow!" he complained laughingly, rubbing his abused anatomy.

"I _told _you I would chuck it at your head," Paige reminded him, rolling her eyes.

Dean laughed again and tossed the orange back, which she caught and put back on her plate. Wordlessly, he poured her a glass of apple juice and handed it to her. She was busy with the bagels, cutting them in half and putting them in the toaster.

"They have strawberry cream cheese," she told him conversationally, as he bumped his shoulder against hers and bent to kiss the crown of her head.

"Oooh, maybe I can use _that_ instead of honey."

Paige mock-glared at him. "Only _you _could make cream cheese into something dirty, Dean," she accused.

He grinned cheekily and pinched her butt, making her jump with a startled yelp.

Connie's eyes bugged out of her head.

They _were _together! And here she'd thought Noah was just being dramatic . . . damn, she owed him fifty bucks now . . .

"Hands to yourself," Paige rebuked him, slapping his hand away when he tried to do it again. "Do you want regular or strawberry, smartass?"

"Mmm, regular," he said with a grin. "Do you want burn-your-eyebrows-off or keel-over-dead coffee?"

Paige yawned just as the toaster popped the bagels up. She pulled them out and started to spread cream cheese. "Definitely keel-over-dead, and don't forget the sugar," she said, and he nodded and hastened to the other end of the breakfast area, where the coffee was.

When she turned around, Connie had her arms crossed and was smiling smugly. She blinked. To be honest, she'd kind of forgotten she was standing there.

"What?" Paige wondered, raising an eyebrow.

"You _do _know that you two act like you're married, right?" said Connie smugly with a smirk.

Paige blinked. "We do?" she said, surprised.

"Oh, yeah."

She shrugged and weaved through the growing number of hotel guests, searching for an open table. Connie followed her, bowl of cereal in her hand and milk in a glass.

"Don't tell him that," Paige advised with a slight smile.

"Why, because he'd run for the hills?" Connie teased, taking the seat across from her.

Paige just stared thoughtfully at her kind-of-sort-of-maybe-boyfriend.

"Probably," she said with a slight shrug, pulling her eyes away from him to smile at her friend.

Suspicions rose as Connie realized Paige was considering _marrying _the pretty-boy.

It would seem a sit-down chat involving her, Dean, many sharp knives held closely to his male anatomy and a shotgun pointed at his head was in order . . .

/

**E/N**: Hey guys, sorry it took me so long! Been uber busy, and the plot bunnies from the novel that I'm writing have been hogging all the time lately. It's my birthday today, so I did this just for fun, so from me to you, I hope you liked it. :)

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
>:D<strong>


	31. Propositions

**A/N**: No apologies offered. RL has been a major bitch lately, and I'm so exhausted after dealing with college that I don't want to do much. Barely survived finals, and was then subjected to my entire family mobbing me constantly for two weeks, fml.

College sucks.

You can hate me later.

Also,**  
>MERRY CHRISTMAS!<strong>  
>Enjoy!<p>

**Disclaimer**: Only own the OCs, folks.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-One<br>**Propositions, Arguments, and Relationship Titles

**Thunder Creek, WY**  
>February 11, 2001<p>

Sharp green eyes warily tracked the motions of the combat knife as it was flipped and twirled through the air. He didn't dare move from his chair, seeing as a second knife — really, it was more of a machete — was pressed against a rather sensitive area that was sort of essential if he wanted children anytime in the future.

" . . . and if I see so much as a _tear_, pretty boy, I will chop off your balls and feed them to you so fast it won't even be funny."

Twirling the knife like a pro and keeping the machete-slash-sharp-pointy-object pointed at Dean Winchester's balls was Constance Brennan, blue eyes full of fire with a look of intense determination on her face. A look that quite honestly scared him just a tad. Not that he would admit that under anything less than extreme torture, of course. That fear could have been for his threatened anatomy; it was hard to tell.

"Yes, Constance," said Dean placatingly. "I heard you the first fifteentimes."

Blue eyes narrowed to slits. "I said something different each time."

"You re-worded the same threat fifteen times," he corrected, smirking. "Now, this has been a _lovely _chat and all, but I have work to do. Want to take that knife out of my balls now?"

Constance smirked. "Why, Winchester, is it making you uncomfortable?"

Not bothering to dignify that with a response, he glared at her.

"I mean it, pretty boy. You break her heart, and you're done for, you hear me? No tears, no crying, no nothing."

"I'm feeling the need to point out that _healthy _relationships involve tears, crying, yelling, the works," said Dean shortly, eyeing the edge of the sword/machete/pointy thing as it inched closer.

Her eyes narrowed to slits again. "Are you smelling what I'm stepping in?" she inquired, pressing the knife just a little closer.

It took every ounce of his self-control not to flinch.

"If I hurt her, you'll kill me?" Dean guessed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, got that the first time you said it. I'm not a _moron_." He shifted a little uncomfortably, switching his gaze to a point behind her shoulder and avoiding her eyes. "Besides, I don't want to hurt her, Constance, so can you quit with the Spanish Inquisition?"

"Technically, it's a Canadian Inquisition."

Dean blinked. "What?"

Constance waved her hand dismissively, narrowly avoiding slicing his arm with her knife. He jerked backwards slightly and she gave him a dirty look. "Never mind, not important," she said calmly. "I just won't stand you — "

"Hurting her," Dean finished for her, crossing his arms and hiding his relief that the knife was, for the moment, pointed away from him. He'd been really nice about that so far, seeing as Paige would probably be pissed if they attacked each other. "Yeah, I got that. I'm not deaf, either, you know."

That sharp glare was pointed at him again.

His expression softened slightly. "Look, I get that she's practically your sister and you love her — "

She scoffed. "Badasses don't love," she cut in, rolling her eyes.

" — you stubborn, thick-headed, stark-raving psychopath, so don't even try to deny it," he continued, as if she had never spoken, ignoring her statement altogether. "I've gotten this imposition from Brad and Chris already, and believe me, I'm getting it from the rest of your freaking Horde too. I _get it_. You guys are protective, yeah, okay." Dean met her gaze squarely, his expression utterly serious. "I care about her, Constance, and am going to do my damndest to make her happy and protect her. Please, get that through your thick skull."

Constance drew her knife away fully and stepped back, surprised by the honesty in his expression and tone. He cared about her? Well, that was unexpected. Not unwelcome, but unexpected nonetheless. She realized with a sinking feeling that her hunting days with Paige were likely drawing to a close.

"I don't want to take her from you," said Dean quietly, reading her expression easily. His casual words shocked Constance to the core and sent her rocking back on her heels.

Nobody read her that easily except for Paige, Summer, and Noah.

There was apparently more to Dean Winchester than met the eye.

"You won't force her to quit hunting?" said Constance suspiciously, studying him intently.

Dean grinned and it reached his eyes, lighting them with a mirthful glint. There goes that damn dimple again, Constance thought idly, as his white teeth flashed.

"Jesus, Constance, if I tried it would be _her _putting a knife in my balls," he chortled, shaking his head. "Paige Newbern is her own woman, and I love that about her. I don't need to control her. I trust her to be as careful as she can."

Constance's shoulder slumped in defeat. "She loves you, you know," she sighed, dropping into the chair across from him.

"I don't, actually," Dean said carefully, avoiding her gaze. "We're not at that stage, not yet. I still think she's a little afraid I'm going to up and leave again."

"She is," she confirmed, resting her elbow on the arm of the couch and perching her chin on her fist. The knife was momentarily forgotten. "All things considered, she has slight abandonment issues. Keep at it. You've broken down all the barriers so far."

Curious now, Dean tilted his head slightly to one side and scrunched his eyebrows down quizzically. Connie now understood what Paige was talking about—sexy head tilt indeed.

"What barriers?"

Sighing, Constance propped her feet up on the coffee table between them. Might as well get comfortable, she reasoned. "She's told you she never had a boyfriend before you?" she inquired. He nodded, leaning back to listen. "Yeah, well, not for lack of guys trying. She was mostly completely clueless, but for the most part, guys were terrified of her and the rest of the girls in the Horde." She cackled and rubbed her hands together. "Chris and Noah scared the shit out of every guy in the school. It was _awesome_."

"I see."

"No, you don't. Ask Paige to show you the video sometime." Constance cackled again, leaving him quietly pondering the state of her mental health. "Look, the point is, she's conditioned herself to lock people outside the family out, just in case they turn on her like her mother did. So far, you've gotten through all of those barriers, and you did that the first night you came here when you were so delirious you couldn't even talk."

Dean thought back to his first visit to Thunder Creek, and those blue eyes that had haunted him for years.

"Well, thanks. I think," he added, eyeing the machete in her left hand.

"Hmm," Constance agreed.

They shared and odd look and both stood up quickly, trying to revert back to the I-hate-your-guts-go-die mentality towards each other.

"Good talk," he said quickly, rubbing the back of his head.

She hefted her machete and pointed it at his chest.

"You heard _nothing_," Constance said firmly.

"Not a damn thing," Dean agreed.

"We really need to restrict our conversations to 'hello' and 'goodbye'," she added, before shoving him out and slamming the door to the apartment she usually shared with Paige behind him a millisecond after he cleared the threshold.

Dean let out a sigh of relief—for a second there he'd been sure she was actually going to chop off his balls. Or talk about _feelings_.

He wasn't sure which would have been worse.

* * *

><p><strong>February 23, 2001<strong>

Dean felt himself relax as he passed the WELCOME TO THUNDER CREEK sign. He'd been gone nearly two weeks hunting with his dad, staying closemouthed about his time with the Newberns, and neglecting to mention his budding romance with Paige or his position in the Brotherhood. Some part of him wanted to keep that just to himself, because he knew his father would try to discourage him, warn him about the demon, and it wasn't something Dean wanted to hear. He'd briefly considered calling Sam about it, but in the end decided not to bother because for one, he was still pissed at his little brother, and for two, he doubted Sam would pick up anyways.

He hadn't felt like this about any other woman before. Cassie came close, but he'd _loved _Cassie. And so, he wondered, just what did he feel for the sarcastic blonde smartass with the bitchy hunting partner and family big enough to populate a small city?

A part of him was worried that he felt deeper for her than she did for him. Another part of him was afraid it would end the same way his relationship with Cassie had ended, even though that was illogical — Cassie had thought he was crazy when he told her the truth, but Paige was one of them. She wouldn't judge him because of hunting, not ever. At least, he _hoped _not and couldn't honestly picture her doing so.

Now he just had to figure out where he wanted to go from here. She seemed to be content to just follow his lead, but he wanted to take it to the next level. Thus far, she didn't seem too convinced about his motives, and seemed to be holding back with him. Most likely she was afraid he was going to leave again.

As if he'd want to. Trade people who cared _about _him, how he was feeling, if he was getting enough sleep or food, for a father who barely acknowledged him? Not likely. He hadn't realized how much he missed people caring about him all the time until now.

It was nice, having people to care. He liked it when John asked him about his day, or when Chris was fussing like a mother hen over a cut or bruise he'd gotten while hunting. Hell, he even liked it when he was getting his ass chewed out by Brad for not checking in often enough while hunting, because he knew deep down that he'd scared the older man even though neither of them would ever admit it.

For a long time he'd been the caregiver, and it was extremely pleasant to step down and lower his barriers a little every once and a while. In short, it was nice to _let _people care about him, because he cared about them just as much. It was . . . comforting. Normal. Safe.

Instead of heading to the ranch house, he veered off for the apartment she was sharing with Connie. They'd needed to get out on their own for a while, Paige had said. The ranch house was rather crowded now that Brad, Debbie, and the three kids had moved in semi-permanently. So, until the new house was built, Paige and Connie had decided to live in town.

He waved at Amy when he saw her walking along, pushing John Bradley in a stroller. It was scary how big the baby was already, it felt like just yesterday he was being born. He pulled into an empty parking space and got out, slamming the door behind him and smiling at people he recognized from his Trial. He greeted each of them as he headed towards the three-story apartment building.

By the time he'd jogged up the stairs, he was anxious to see her again. He fingered the single pink rose in one hand while he knocked with the other. Old little Mrs. Riley at the flower shop had assured him that a single pink rose symbolized many things, including one of the most important messages he'd been trying to convey all along.

The door swung open and there she was in jeans and a T-shirt, hair in a messy bun with tendrils sticking up all over the place. She stared at him for a moment in utter shock before beaming and throwing her arms around him enthusiastically.

"Told you I was coming back," she said smugly, lifting a hand to cup the back of her neck. The rose was still in the other, held free of their bodies to avoid it being smashed. He kissed the crown of her head and smiled, resting his chin there instead.

"Missed you," she said, voice muffled in his leather jacket. "Thought you weren't coming back until Tuesday."

"Dad and I finished up the gig pretty quickly," said Dean with a shrug. "Came here as soon as I was done. Dad's irritated, but he has my phone number, so he can get over it."

Paige finally pulled away enough to look up at him. She raised a quizzical brow ― a skill that was astounding in the Newbern family, apparently, as Brad and Chris did the same. "Are you okay?" she wondered. She knew from experience being with his dad stressed him out.

Dean inhaled and exhaled slowly, taking a moment to think it over before answering. "Kind of," he admitted, dropping his cheek to the top of her head again. "I'm still pissed at what he did to Sam, but he's family, you know? I still love the guy, even if he writes like freaking Yoda and still treats me like I'm an incompetent ten-year-old."

"Yeah," she agreed. "Come on inside so we're not crowding the hall. I was just about to make lunch."

He grinned rakishly. "Food?" he said hopefully.

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "There's plenty for all three of us. Connie disappeared a while ago to meet some guy. I think she has a boyfriend but she denies it every time."

"Wouldn't surprise me," he shrugged.

Paige noticed the rose in his hand and raised an eyebrow. He smirked and held it out to her with a mocking bow. "For you, madame," he said in a horrible fake accent. She laughed and took it from him, spinning it in her fingers.

"A pink rose," she mused, smelling it. "Thank you." Arching up on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek.

"Mrs. Riley recommended it," he said with a soft smile. "She's a sweet little old lady, even if she did make me stand there for an hour while she explained the meaning of each and every rose color on the whole damn _planet_."

With a laugh, Paige headed to the kitchen to find a vase for her flower, lips curling into a pleased smile as she inhaled its sweet fragrance. He followed her closely, his body heat seeping into her back.

"She's nice," Paige assured him. "Obsessed with roses, but nice."

"Mmm," he agreed, watching as she pulled down a vase, filled it with water, and set the vase with the flower on the ledge over the sink. Stepping up behind her he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on the top of her shoulder. "Do you know what the pink rose symbolizes?"

"I do," she said, turning in his embrace to smile up at him. Reaching up, she pulled his head down and whispered in his ear, "I believe you, Dean."

Dean smiled and hugged her tightly.

* * *

><p><strong>DENVER INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT<br>**April 4, 2001

With a bemused smile on his face Dean was all but dragged through the airport towards the _Arrivals_ board. For once he didn't have time to ponder his fear of flying; he was too busy trying not to trip over someone and fall flat on his face or flat on some poor unsuspecting pedestrian.

Paige's grip on his wrist was relentless. She moved through the airport with purpose, the look on her face determined and fierce. People wisely got the hell out of the way to allow the strange procession through. Many of the people she nearly barreled over gave him strange looks. Most of the time all he had time to do was shrug apologetically before he was pulled along again.

She stopped so suddenly he ran into her, snagging her shoulders as he regained his equilibrium. "Woman, you're impossible," he huffed, as his head finally stopped spinning.

She flashed a brief grin before her eyes raked over the board, searching for the 1:15 arrival from Seattle. Summer was arriving today for her week-long stay while Tim was back East at some kind of national football training camp. It would be the first time she'd seen her best friend/sister since Alexander was born, and the first time she'd seen her godson/nephew in the same amount of time.

"I don't see it," she snapped impatiently.

Dean gently grabbed her chin and turned her face towards the board on the far left. "Right there, crazy lady," he teased, nodding at it. Sure enough, four up from the bottom, was SEATTLE – ON TIME.

"Oh thank God," she beamed, jumping up and down in excitement. "Only five more minutes!"

He couldn't help but laugh. A moment ago she'd been furious, now she was acting like a giddy little school girl. Life with her was never dull, that was for sure, even when she was constantly nagging him to eat a proper meal that wasn't a bag of Cheetos and a soda.

"I'm so excited!"

"Really? I had _no_ idea."

Paige slapped him playfully on the arm. "Dean, Alex is so big! He's almost as big as JB, but it's hard to tell without seeing him in person. Daily pictures aren't good enough," she groaned, shaking her head. "It is so unfair that she lives all the way in freaking _Washington_ and nobody ever gets to see her!"

"You could fly out to see her," he pointed out.

"With as many hunts as grandpa's had us going on lately? Not likely," she snorted, shaking her head. She shivered a little at the memory of the complete disaster of a hunt two months ago, now, and his arm came around her shoulders, pressing her into his side.

Dean paled a little at the reminder. The last hunt she and Connie had been on hadn't exactly ended well. In fact, it had ended with both of them, as well as the young couple they had been trying to protect, in the hospital with mild to severe hypothermia. It was an experience he and Chris would rather not repeat. They'd ganked the spirit, but the cost had been high. Thank God he and Chris had been in Idaho on a standard salt-and-burn and had gotten there quickly.

Connie had nearly _died_. The bloody idiot had shoved the three of them out of the way as the ice cracked under her feet. She'd plunged into the water up to her head; Paige had only partly submerged. Now, two months later, they acted like it was the distant past.

All the same, Dean was thankful. Connie had saved all of their lives, nearly at the cost of her own. Though she would just brush it off in casual conversation. Noah had been jumpy for weeks after their return to Thunder Creek, leaving Connie muttering about something referred to as the "Lake Fiasco of 1989", but whenever he tried to get details the only words he could get Noah and the others to spit out were "lake", "Paige'n'Sum", and "scared me half to death".

Their stubbornness frustrated him.

Not that he was really one to talk.

Paige made a sound beside him that was halfway between a yell and a squeal of joy. He raised an eyebrow, impressed at her vocal capabilities and the grip she now had on his forearm.

Before he could blink, Paige was off and running. He half-heartedly jogged after her, spotting Summer over the crowd. She had a blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms and a huge grin on her face as he watched Paige racing towards her.

He caught up to them, but couldn't understand a word either of them were saying, seeing as they were talking over each other, the baby still blissfully asleep in her arms. They were gripping each other tightly, practically spinning around in circles in their glee. Several of the onlookers laughed at the sight. Dean timed it perfectly so that he lifted the baby carefully out of Summer's arms, and after a quick glance and a brief smile, Paige and Summer were hugging as if they hadn't seen or spoken to each other in years.

The baby stirred a little, making a soft noise. Dean looked down at him and smiled — the baby was tiny and pink and perfect, with a mop of light brown hair that curled at the ends and long eyelashes. He cradled him in one arm and watched the two women revert back to acting like over-excited kindergarteners.

He led the way to the baggage claim area after Summer announced they were supposed to be at carousel three, and after that the two women dissolved back into rapid-speech and finishing each other's sentences. It was rather confusing, so he gave up trying to keep track of who was talking about what, standing a little bit behind them as they gestured rapidly, keeping one eye on the baggage rotating in a circle.

Several of the people walking by gave him — or rather the little boy cradled in the crook of his arm — tender looks. Many of the young women openly beamed at him and in whispers to each other gushed over how adorable he and the baby were together.

Dean was used to it. Whenever he was watching JB and in public, out-of-towners mistook the little guy for his son all the time. He'd usually correct them, but sometimes it just expended less energy to let them think what they wanted to think.

Absently bouncing the little guy in one arm, he watched Summer haul off a large suitcase, a smaller one that was likely for toiletries, a stroller, and a car seat. Without relinquishing his young charge, he bent to sling the stroller strap over one shoulder and grab the car seat in one hand.

They finally stopped motormouthing long enough for them to load the suitcases into the Impala.

"Who's car is this?" wondered Summer, arching an eyebrow.

"Mine," Dean grinned, slamming the trunk closed and handing Summer the car seat.

"Oh my goodness," Paige gushed, reaching up to tickle Alexander's sensitive stomach. The baby smiled sleepily and stirred in Dean's arms. "He's so _big _Sum, just wait until you seen John Bradley he is as cute as a button. These two are going to be heartbreakers!"

Summer raised an eyebrow at the scene, both Paige and Dean smiling down at her infant son. Surprisingly he seemed perfectly comfortable with the baby in the crook of his arm, far more comfortable than she would have thought he would be.

"I'll take him," she said, holding her arms out. Dean carefully handed Alex over and got in the car, starting the engine as Summer buckled Alex into his car seat.

The car was big on the inside and smelled of leather, gun oil, and something else she couldn't identify. They pulled out of the parking structure on onto the road. Alex was asleep almost instantly. Go figure, she mused, seeing as he'd cried pretty much the entire flight.

"Good flight?" Dean asked, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"Long," Summer shrugged. "Alex wasn't happy for most of the flight."

"You can take a nap, we won't get upset," said Paige from the front seat.

Summer tried to stay awake, listening to the couple talking softly. They were debating the effectiveness of handguns versus shotguns in relation to spirits. His laugh filled the cab as he reached over to flick her ear, making Paige laugh in return and smack his shoulder. She watched them through steadily drooping eyes and realized for the first time that he actually cared about her.

* * *

><p><em><strong>later that day<strong>_

Summer chewed her lip uncertainly. She really wanted to go out to dinner with Paige for some much-needed girl time, but wasn't sure if she trusted Dean Winchester alone with her son.

"Summer, come on," Paige sighed, rolling her eyes as she shoved her wallet and sunglasses into her purse. "He raised his little brother, he's great with John Bradley. Chris and Amy have asked him to babysit more than once. Besides, Grandpapa is bringing by some dinner for them at six, so you can badger him about it as soon as he leaves."

"Oh, all right," Summer groaned, shoving Paige's shoulder and making the taller woman laugh. "You are _such _a nag. Just wait until you have your own kids and have to leave them with him! You won't be browbeating me about being obsessively protective _then_."

Paige snorted rather inelegantly. "When I have kids I won't have to worry about it because I'm pretty sure I know who their father will be," she responded absently, slinging her purse over her shoulder. She didn't notice the way Summer froze in shock at her words.

Dean emerged from down the hall, dressed in sweat pants and a plain black T-shirt. "You sure about this?" he wondered with a smirk, looking between the two women.

"Positive," said Paige.

"Not really," said Summer at the same time.

"Look, if you're not comfortable with it, I understand," said Dean, holding up his hands. He was looking right at Summer, and the dark-haired mother realized for the first time how green his eyes were. She'd never been on the receiving end of his full attention before. It was disconcerting. "I can call Chris and have him and Amy come get him," he offered, shifting his weight a little uncomfortably.

"You said JB was sick," Paige reminded him, crossing her arms.

"He is," Dean responded, raising an eyebrow. "But at least he'd be with actual, you know, parents."

"Dean, who changed your brother's diapers?"

"Me," he responded instantly, not even having to pause to think. He narrowed his eyes, which just made her grin. A little smile curved the edge of his lip. "You are devious, do you know that?"

Paige shrugged. "Summer, if you're really not okay with this, I understand. I promise, though, he's _great _with little John."

"I trust you," Summer promised. She took a deep, calming breath. "Dean, one hair on his head, and you die. You get me?"

"Yes, Mama Bear," he teased, amusement in his eyes. "And before you launch into a tangent, I know how to change a diaper and everything else."

"Okay," she sighed. "We should be back at a reasonable hour."

Dean saluted her with one finger and reached up to cup Paige's neck in his hand. Before the blonde could react he dragged her forward and planted a tender kiss before pulling away.

"Have fun," he said cheerfully. "I'm going to watch some History Channel before he wakes up."

Paige reached up to gently flick his ear and walked out the door with Summer a half step behind her.

They filled each other in on the happenings of their lives the entire ride to Jay's, taking their usual booth instantly, ordering immediately and settling back into easy conversation. By the time the waitress arrived with Summer's cheeseburger and Paige's tuna sandwich, they'd gone through most subjects. So, Summer settled on the one she'd been dying to talk about since she got to Denver and saw Dean Winchester standing beside her childhood friend.

Deciding bluntness would be easiest, Summer leaned forward and quietly asked, "Have you guys done it yet?"

Paige choked on her water, coughing and spluttering a moment before getting her bearings. Through watering eyes she stared at her friend in shock. As soon as she regained her composure, she sniffed and said heatedly, "Of _course_ not. We've only been dating six months."

It was Summer's turn to choke. "What do you mean, you haven't had sex yet?" she whispered just loud enough for her friend to hear, staring across the table at her in shock.

Paige rolled her eyes and shrugged, not bothering to answer as she was busy chewing her sandwich.

Summer leaned back in her chair, silently re-evaluating her opinion of Dean Winchester. Six months, and he hadn't pushed or pressured her into sex? That had to be some kind of record.

"Bitch, you crazy," she muttered, making Paige nearly choke on her food. "I might not be his biggest fan, but not even _I _can't deny that man is as attractive as sin."

Rolling her eyes again, Paige snorted, "Gee, thanks." She gave Summer a thoughtful look. "Why is it that you don't like him, anyway?"

"You mean besides the fact that he's an arrogant smartass?"

Paige raised an eyebrow. "And you're not?" she teased.

"I'm not arrogant," Summer sniffed, eyes sparkling with mirth. Suddenly serious, she studied her friend through narrowed eyes. "Do you love him?"

Hesitating only for a moment, Paige admitted, "Yes."

"Does he love you?" she pressed.

"I don't know, Sum." Studying her palms intently, Paige bit her lip and sighed softly. "He's rather stubborn about insisting he cares about me, I know that."

"Well, that's good," sighed Summer. "Have you told him yet?"

"No," she admitted sheepishly. "I'm kind of afraid to."

"Why?"

"What if I tell him, and he leaves again?"

Fair enough, Summer mused. She'd had the same reservations about Tim, even if that seemed like a million years ago. So, she bit back her retorts and reservations. She'd seen the way they looked at each other, but was her attachment deeper than his?

They steered their conversations to lighter topics.

"If he hurts my kid, by the way, you're dead meat," Summer said seriously.

"He won't," she promised. "JB adores him. He babysits for Chris and Amy a lot between hunts, usually on their date nights. Alex is perfectly safe."

"Where am I, backwards land?" Summer shook her head woefully. Dean Winchester, once badass hunter, now trustworthy babysitter. "I feel like I came home to an alternate universe."

Laughing, Paige threw a French fry at her. "See what happens when you leave?" she accused.

Summer laughingly lobbed a French fry back. "I sure missed you guys," she sighed.

"_You're _the one who decided to abandon hunting and move to Washington," Paige reminded her, taking a sip of her ice water.

"I told you, I don't want to be a hunter anymore," Summer responded coolly.

"I know, I just meant, have you thought this through? I mean, really thought it through?" Paige pressed, cocking her head to one side and studying her friend intently.

"What do you mean?"

"Have you thought this through?" Paige repeated.

"What's there to think through? My son will _not _be raised a hunter," insisted Summer heatedly.

Paige held up her hands in mock surrender. "That's not what I meant," she sighed. "I meant, have you thought how this will affect your family? You'll never be able to bring Tim here. There's no way we can get the whole town to stop acting like hunters. Someone's tongue will inadvertently slip. And what about Alex? You'll be isolating him from his family. Who knows how often we'll be able to visit? What if something comes after you and we can't get there in time because you're all the way in Washington?" she finished.

"It's my decision," Summer snapped.

"I know. Sorry if I pissed you off," Paige sighed. "You just want to protect him, I get that. It's just . . . we miss you, Summer."

Summer gathered her purse and stood, watching as Paige did the same.

"My only point is, Sum, not telling Tim is probably going to come back and bite you in the ass."

"Funny," Summer grumbled as she followed Paige to the car, "that's _exactly_ what Noah said."

Summer silently fumed on the trip back to Paige and Connie's apartment. She was pissed that Paige had the gall to question her decisions about _her _family — her husband, her baby, her decisions. End of story.

Paige wisely held her silence, sensing that Summer was less than pleased. Obviously Summer wanted to protect her family, but in her opinion living outside of TC's protected valleys and keeping Tim in the dark about the danger didn't seem like the best way to do it. She bit her lip and stayed silent, however. It was obvious Summer had made her division and wasn't about the change her mind.

The apartment was dark. Summer hurried to the guest bedroom only to find Alexander sleeping peacefully in the port-a-crib. She reached down and found him to be normal temperature. Relived, she stuck her head out of the doorway and watched Paige in the kitchen.

She drew back when she heard the door at the end of the hallway open. Dean emerged, dressed in a simple pair of gray sweat pants that said WYOMING down the side.

Eyes narrowing, Summer crept into the hall to listen to their conversation.

Rubbing his eyes, Dean entered the kitchen with a huge yawn. "Hey," he rumbled, heading to the sink for a glass of water.

"You fell asleep, didn't you?" Paige teased with a warm smile. She leaned her cheek against his shoulder blade, finding his skin to be nice and warm. "Alex tucker you out?"

"Not really," he shrugged. "He only cried once the whole time." The end of his sentence was punctuated by a yawn. "Just been a long week, that's all." He braced his hands on either side of the sink and hung his head, rotating it in an effort to release the tension in his neck and shoulders.

There was silence for a moment, until Dean's voice broke the silence.

"How was dinner? You guys were gone a while."

Paige snorted. "I just tried to pint out the consequences of lying to your family and we kinda got in a fight." She sighed heavily, leaning into his back. "I should have just shut up. Me and my big mouth getting me in trouble, as usual."

Dean made a sound halfway between a laugh and a snort. "Well, in my experience, running from hunting doesn't get you very far. The things that want you dead still come after you anyway."

"That's what I said. It's her life, though. I don't get to judge her for it."

He yawned again, scrubbing his hand over his face.

"You can stay here tonight," Paige told him. "You're exhausted and the roads are icy."

Dean blinked. "You asking me to sleep with you?"

"Next to me," she corrected, mock-stern.

His lips puckered in a pout. "Aww," he whined.

"Perv," she laughed, shaking her head. She headed for the bedroom, tossing a smile over her shoulder.

Shaking his head with a faint chuckle, he trailed after her, shutting off the lights. As he passed the guest room, he said, "Night, Summer."

Summer just smiled faintly and closed the door to her room.

**/**

Paige turned off the shower and took her hair out of the bun she'd fastened it in to keep her hair dry. She dried off quickly and pulled on her favorite sweat pants and a soft T-shirt.

She clicked off the bathroom light and slipped into the bedroom. Deans' soft breathing filled the room. She slipped under the covers and rolled onto her side, facing away from him. Usually, in the few times they had shared a bed during hunts, he would wake up when the bed shifted, but not tonight. He was more tired than he'd let on.

Sleep had almost claimed her when his arm slid around her waist and pulled her back against him. His breath fanned over the side of her neck.

"You smell good," he murmured, nuzzling the soft skin at the side of her neck.

"Body wash," she shrugged.

"Summer was listening to us."

"It's not the biggest apartment," she pointed out calmly.

"Why're you so tense?" he wondered quietly, pulling her closer, until her back was flush against his chest.

She lifted her head to roll her eyes at him, not that he could tell in the dark.

He took that as an opportunity to slide his arm under her neck. When she lowered her cheek, it came to rest on his bicep.

The tension slowly seeped out of her. She made a sleepy sound of contentment and pulled the blankets up a little higher.

Her thoughts were making sleep difficult, however. She chewed her lip while she thought, unconsciously drumming her fingers on the arm he had around her waist.

"What's bothering you?" he sighed, rubbing his chin across the top of her shoulder.

"Nothing," she sighed.

"Do we really need to go through this again?" he teased. "You're drumming your fingers on my arm."

Paige sighed in defeat. "Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you want sex?"

Dean blinked, too stunned to react. "What?" he managed to croak through frozen lips.

"You heard me."

He propped himself up on one elbow looking down at her. "What in the hell kind of question is that?"

She rolled over slightly, looking up at him.

"An honest one?"

With a sigh that ended in a choked laugh, he shook his head and brushed her hair off her forehead. "I'm a guy," he said gently. "Of course I want sex."

Very quietly, she said, "Oh."

The tone of her voice made him wish he could see her face. He caught her when she went to roll away. "Want," he said softly, "not need."

She remained silent and still in his grip, the question hanging in the air between them.

"I'm willing to wait for whenever you're ready," he said softly, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. "Before, I was a one-night-stand kind of guy. This time is different. You're different. Taking things slowly is . . . new, for me."

Paige was quiet, pondering his words.

"That's not what this relationship is about," he continued, settling down beside her and pulling her back into his arms. "I don't want it to revolve around how often we have sex, which is really weird to say by the way, seeing as I've recently had to take a myriad of cold showers and practice extreme self-control."

His sullen tone made her smile.

"So, what are we then?" Paige said into the darkness.

"We're us," he said simply, kissing the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

"I don't think 'boyfriend' really covers it. Sounds so . . ." she trailed off, searching for the word.

"Juvenile? High School?" he provided, grinning in the darkness.

"Exactly," she murmured with a nod as she nuzzled her face into his bicep and sighed.

"I don't really think it matters what we call it." Dean tugged the blankets up around his shoulders before settling his arm back around her waist.

"I suppose not, but we need to think of something for other people to call it."

"Eh, screw 'em. I'm too tired right now to think of an answer." Dean shifted slightly. "Would it be too corny to just say you're mine, and I'm yours?"

"Kind of a new concept for you, isn't it?" she said, a slight teasing lilt to her tone.

Dean gave her a squeeze and, utterly serious, said, "Everything changed with you. _Everything_."

Paige had no idea what to say to that. She just twined her fingers in his and squeezed.

"Someday I'll manage to convince you of that," he murmured softly.

"You already are," she murmured back as her eyes slipped closed.

They settled back into their original positions. His arm was a heavy weight on her hip, his warmth seeping into her back.

Just by saying those words, he had silence a fear she hadn't known she was carrying around. Her eyes slid closed, and before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

**/**

**E/N**: I have been failing lately, peeps. Sorry about that. I am very busy in real life. :\

The relationship is picking up... kinda... and I'm getting closer to stuff I really do not want to write because its going to stab me right in the freaking feels. *sigh*

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
>XD<strong>


	32. Becoming Family

**A/N: **Hey all! I'm posting! Trying really hard not to die on you again.

Aiight, so, I keep saying ten chapters left.

I have no clue how many chapters are left.

All I know is: _THERE ARE A LOT LEFT_.

I currently have two half-finished, so the next chapter should be out soon enough.

**Disclaimer: **I own my OCs, the Winchesters and all similar _Supernatural _storylines belong to Kripke and crew.

/

**Chapter Thirty-Two  
><strong>Becoming Family

Dean's phone buzzed the next morning, drawing him from a dead sleep. Cursing under his breath, he stretched his arm out and grabbed it, bringing it to his ear with a mumbled, "Someone had _better_ be dead or dyin'…"

"Morning," Chris cheerful voice greeted him. Dean wanted to strangle the taller man for waking him up at such an ungodly hour; Christ_, it wasn't even light out yet._ Normal people did not rise before the sun, but apparently, the Newbern men had never gotten that memo. "Did you forget about the Conclave meeting this morning? Dad wants you to sit in on it and it starts at six."

He groaned. What with Summer's arrival in Denver, watching Alex, and a shitty night's sleep because of the baby's constant crying, he had completely spaced.

"Timeizzitnow?"

"Five thirty," he responded, sounding amused. "You didn't come back to the ranch house last night, which means you stayed. So you've got five minutes to pull yourself away from my baby sister, get dressed, and drive out here before it stars. You know how grandpa is about punctuality."

Dean cursed again and hung up on his hunting partner, burying his face in the pillow for a long moment, briefly entertaining the thought of smothering himself so he didn't have to go to the damn meeting. Unfortunately, he knew John would have his hide if he didn't show up on time and at least mostly awake. With a heavy sigh he slipped out of bed, being careful not to jostle Paige, who was dead asleep on the other side of the bed with one arm hanging off the edge.

He was glad she was finally asleep; she had jerked awake like an air horn had gone off every time Alex had cried—he'd stopped counting at thirty-one. It hadn't been a good night for sleeping all around; he assumed Summer would be cranky this morning too, considering her baby had decided to test his lung capacity for a large majority of the time between two o'clock in the morning and his last burst of screaming about a half an hour ago.

The warm shower water woke him up a little, but he still felt like a zombie as he dried off and shaved his face. He pulled on his jeans with one hand and started to brush his teeth. The brush stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he paused to root around in his duffel for a shirt, tossing it on the toilet seat while he finished brushing and flossing. No time for breakfast before leaving, yet another thing to make him grumpy.

Grumbling under his breath about the injustice of the world, he pulled on a plain black T-shirt and a plaid flannel before pulling on his leather jacket and tucking his pendant beneath the collar of his T-shirt. He tip-toed out of the room with his boots in his hand and sat briefly on the couch to put them on before snagging the Impala's keys off the counter and heading from the apartment, closing the door softly behind him.

It was a twenty-minute drive to the Newbern property, but he managed it in ten. He pulled up just behind Bruce Clayborne and his black Chevy pickup, slamming the Impala's door and following the blonde man up the porch steps and into the kitchen. John should have been proud, he had over five minutes to spare.

Mary was waiting for them with full, steaming cups of coffee and a whole tray of freshly baked blueberry scones that smelled like heaven.

"Bless you," he grunted, accepting the coffee and the scone eagerly. He bit down into it and groaned appreciatively, pulling her into a one-armed bear hug that made her laugh and swat him gently on the chest. Elliot shoved him aside a moment later, his eyes still bleary with exhaustion and his thick, slightly curly black hair sticking up on one side, intent on coffee and then food.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Mary greeted him, buttering a blueberry scone for him and putting it on a plate. Elliot accepted it with a grunt that made his grandmother smile. "It is not _that _early, dear," she teased lightly.

"It is when your girlfriend was up until the butt crack of dawn making you pretend to be a person in various degrees of physical distress," Elliot muttered darkly, eating half the scone in one bite and reaching for another. "If she makes me pretend to have a seizure one more time, I am seriously going to consider locking her in the closet."

Mary beamed at him and patted his cheek. "What a good boyfriend, letting her practice for her exam on you."

Elliot rolled his eyes. "I'm a right saint," he grumbled. "Never again, I tell you. She kept smacking me awake when I fell asleep on the floor. It was _three in the morning_ . . ."

Dean leaned against the counter and listened, amused that someone had gotten less sleep than him. He could feel the caffeine in his system, slowly waking him up. At least he wasn't the only one. Bruce was standing a ways away, methodically chewing his scone while he stared into some middle distance with a vacant look on his face. Elliot was grumpy and had dark circles under his eyes. Jared came in a moment later, his eyes still half-closed. David Harris, Summer's dad, was a half-step behind.

"How's Alex?" he asked Dean, seeming to be the most awake of the lot besides Mary.

"Screams like a fucking banshee," Dean grumbled, taking a sip of coffee. "Barely slept a wink."

"Sum did too," David grunted, reaching around Dean to get a coffee cup from the cupboard beside the sink. "She's 'sposed to stay w' me'n Theresa tonight, though. Kyle's gonna stay over too, hasn't seen the kid since he was born. Need some time with my grandson, since she lives all the way in goddamn Idaho."

"Washington," he corrected mildly.

"Whatever."

Dean smirked a little and took another sip of coffee. He didn't know what the hell Mary Newbern put in it, but it tasted like an angels tears of fucking _joy_. Clutching it in his hands, he followed the crowd of people to the conference room John kept for Conclave meetings and dropped into a seat, resting his head on the back of it and staring out the circular window at the rising sun.

John came in through the side door, coffee in hand and hunting journal tucked under his arm. "Good morning," he greeted them all.

"Good?" Dean muttered. "What _good_?" He ducked the swat John aimed at his head as he passed by with a smirk.

"What is this thing _good _you speak of?" Bruce grumbled darkly, viciously tearing his scone in half and shoving part of it in his mouth. "Only thing good about it is the goddamn coffee, you bastard."

"_Good morning_? There's no such thing, gramps," Elliot moaned.

"Good morning? What's good about it? It's the buttcrack of fucking dawn, dad," Brad mumbled from the other side of the table, where he was slumped over the surface using his hunting journal as his pillow. "Why can't we have meetings at eight, like _normal_ people?"

"Who said we were _normal_?" Jared muttered under his breath beside Dean.

"What are you, five?" John growled at Brad, thwacking his son on the head with his journal as he sat down next to him. "Sit up, boy, or I smack you too," he threatened Kyle, who abruptly sat up straight and nearly spilled his coffee everywhere. He spun his light blue eyes to Dean, who suddenly felt like he was on the receiving end of mind control.

"And _you_," he growled, pointing a gnarled finger at him. "Where the hell were you last night?"

"Paige and Connie's apartment," he answered immediately, not even bothering to lie. "The girls wanted me to babysit Alex while they went out."

John studied him suspiciously for another moment before grunting and turning away to ask where the hell Bobby was, and Dean's shoulders slumped in relief. He ignored the amused looks the rest of the horde were shooting him and discreetly flipped them off by pretending to scratch his hairline. Chris nearly choked on his blueberry scone and Kyle inhaled coffee through his nose.

"The hell is wrong with you lot?" John grunted, chucking a pack of tissues at Kyle, who was now hacking and clutching his burning nose as tears glassed over his eyes. He then started thumping Chris on the back, who was waving him off frantically even though John wasn't paying any attention.

"Nothing," Kyle gasped, taking a tissue and blowing his nose loudly.

Dean smirked and leaned back, sipping from his coffee.

"Right," John said, rolling his eyes as he addressed everyone present. "Let's get this show on the road. According to Ellen, we need more hunters in Oklahoma . . ."

/

Paige woke up for the forty-seventh time when Alex started screaming. Groaning loudly into her pillow, she wondered if this was what insanity felt like. All she wanted to do was _sleep_, but every time Alex cried her body jolted like she'd been electrocuted. It was damned annoying.

She'd finally fallen asleep for the most time when Dean had slung an arm around her waist and hummed what sounded like AC/DC until she zonked out.

Rubbing her eyes and cursing a blue streak under her breath, she rolled over to find Dean's side of the bed empty. She frowned for a moment, until she realized it was Thursday morning and her grandfather had scheduled the Conclave meeting for today instead of Saturday, seeing as Summer was in town and they were planning a day-long barbeque for Saturday instead.

With another sigh she rolled out of bed and took a shower, feeling like a zombie as she then dressed and shuffled for the coffee pot. The clock on the stove said it was 7:12 am. Wonderful.

The sound of a key in the lock made her look up.

Connie sauntered into the kitchen looking like the cat that had caught the canary.

Paige raised an eyebrow and looked back at the coffee she was pouring into the biggest mug she could find before dumping in creamer and a large spoonful of sugar. "What's gotten you so happy?" she questioned.

"Demeaning peasants," Connie responded instantly with a cheerful grin, tossing her go-bag on the couch and striding to the cabinet to get her own mug. "Coffee, the Gods are kind today."

Snorting, Paige moved away from the coffee pot, plopping down on the barstool and resting her elbows on the island. "Who did you make cry today?"

"Katie," Connie said, rolling her eyes at the mention of her little sister. "She's on her, like, fifteenth boyfriend. She's a freshman in high school and there she was blabbering about how _my heart is broken_." She snorted as she stirred her coffee with more enthusiasm than necessary, spilling some on the counter. "I told her that if her heart was really broken, she'd be dead, so shut up."

"You have _such _a way with people, Con."

"People? What people? I hate people. They're peasants, the lot of them. Honestly, I don't know why we bother saving their stupid asses half the time . . . oh, it's a dark scary house? Let's go into it even though it's haunted, there's no such thing as ghosts . . . yeah, because _that_ alwaysends well . . ."

Paige grinned and shook her head, continuing to sip her coffee. "Any new weapons lately?"

Connie sat on the stool beside her and spun in circles as she sipped their elixir of life. "Working on one," she admitted. "Brass knuckles, 'cept they're iron, and coated in salt. I get to go around punching ghosts now. Convenient, eh?"

"Hmm," she agreed with a huge yawn.

"You look like shit," Connie remarked, getting a good look at her pale skin and the dark circles under her eyes. "What, did Winchester not let you sleep or something? You can just knee him in the balls you know, or — "

Alexander's banshee wail cut her off mid-sentence. She glanced around curiously with her what-the-hell eyebrow arched. "When did we buy a fire engine siren?" she wondered curiously.

"Baby," Paige corrected, taking another sip of coffee and wondering at the miracle that her ears weren't bleeding yet.

"When the hell did we get a baby?" Connie asked, looking completely gob smacked, both of her eyebrows up now. Her eyes rested on Paige's stomach for a moment. "You and Winchester couldn't have hidden _that_, I mean, come on — "

"It's my baby," Summer muttered as she came out of the bedroom with Alex on her shoulder.

Connie blinked and looked between Paige and Summer. She settled on Paige and jerked her chin in the shorter woman's direction, asking, "When in the hell did the hobbit get here?"

"Yesterday," Paige and Summer responded in unison.

"Sorry about Alex," Summer continued with a huge yawn. "I don't know _why _he wouldn't settle down. He usually just goes right to sleep and stays like that."

Paige grunted and waved her hand in dismissal, as if to say, _don't worry about it._

Meanwhile, Connie continued to spin her chair. "Nice of you to inform me," she muttered.

"Not my fault you flee like the French army every time I mention Dean is coming over," Paige retorted. "He thinks you hate him, you know. Always asks me what the hell he did to make you such a bitch all the time."

"Well, I did threaten to castrate him with my knives, so he might be butthurt about that," Connie mused.

"You threatened his anatomy with knives?"

"Yep."

"Um . . . _why_?"

"I could have just gotten a box of condoms. I gave him the talk instead. You're welcome."

Paige groaned and dropped her head to the counter. "I really hate you sometimes, you know that?"

"Suuuuure you do," Connie snickered. "Should have seen his face, though. He was a tad bit worried about the family jewels, y'know?"

"_Constance_."

"What?" Connie protested, laughing and evading Paige's half-hearted blows. "It was just a _joke_. Well, mostly a joke. I kind of sort of _maybe _might have ripped his pants. Slightly. Just a little bit."

Paige looked at Summer, amusement dancing in her eyes. "If Dean runs for the hills, I'm blaming Connie," she announced.

Summer smirked. "Oh, I blame Connie for a lot of things," she assured her friend. "Hang nails, world hunger, when my cat pees on things . . ." she trailed off with a laugh, patting the now-quiet Alex on the back soothingly.

That made Paige snicker and stick her tongue out at Connie.

Connie stuck her hand in the air and wiggled her fingers. "Sitting right here," she said dryly.

"Oh, we know," Summer assured her wickedly. "Where did you vanish too, anyway?"

"Her boy toy," Paige finished for her before Connie could say a word. She smirked under the force of her friend's fierce glare.

"I do _not _have a 'boy toy'," she protested, doing air quotes to accentuate her point.

"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much," Summer snickered.

"Oh, screw both of you." Connie rolled her eyes and went back to her coffee, idly flipping her knife around in her free hand and ignoring both of them.

"So, are we having a barbeque?" Summer wondered as she sipped her own cup of coffee, yawning hugely ever other minute and leaning against the counter.

Paige snorted. "It's Thunder Creek, of _course _we're having a barbeque," she deadpanned. "The whole damn town is coming, too. Saturday, grandpa's place. I'm supposed to bake a pie."

"FOOD," Connie moaned suddenly, clutching her stomach. "By Odin, I'm hungry. You got any food in this place?" She was off her stool before Paige could say a word and rooting through the fridge, momentarily forgetting that she lived there too, apparently.

"Just don't eat the apples," she addressed Connie's backside, which was the only thing visible, the rest of the fridge appearing to have swallowed her. It was packed to the brim with food for the upcoming party.

Summer rolled her eyes at the theatrics and turned back to Paige. "So, we good?"

"Yeah, we're good," Paige responded.

"It's just, it's my life, you know? I need your support, not your scorn."

Paige blinked. "I wasn't scorning you," she said honestly. "I was just… okay, I was being a bitch. I just worry, that's all."

"I can protect them if anything happens," Summer pointed out through narrowed eyes.

"And if you're not there?" Paige challenged, noticing that Connie slowly straightened, her face appearing over the fridge door. She had a carrot in her teeth and her eyes were darting back and forth between them curiously.

"It won't happen."

"But what if it _does_? That's all I'm trying to point out here."

"Uh," Connie said uncertainly, looking between the two, who ignored her.

"It's my family, Paige!"

"I get that, Summer! Jesus Christ! I'm just trying to point out that if something _does _happen, we are way too far away to help!"

"LADIES," Dean bellowed suddenly, making all three of them jump. None had heard him arrive; understandable, given all the yelling they had just been doing. He looked between Summer and Paige with eyebrows furrowed. "You're both being bitches about it. Agree to move on, put it behind you, and get along." His green eyes bored into first Paige, then Summer, before switching to Connie and the open fridge. "Constance, move. I'm _starving_."

With that, he sauntered into the kitchen and hip-checked Connie out of the way, who protested with a yelp as her perilous food stack was compromised and the salsa almost fell to the ground.

Paige and Summer exchanged looks that said _I'm sorry, I was a bitch_ and then smiled at each other.

"Not enough sleep," Summer admitted sheepishly.

"Same," said Paige, rubbing the back of her neck. "Your kid has one hell of a set of lungs on him."

Dean stuck his head over the top of the fridge to look at them both, muttering, "Understatement of the century, he screams like a fucking banshee."

The two women chuckled at that and watched Connie and Dean fighting for dominance in front of the fridge. Dean won, and stuck his head back in the fridge as Paige threatened him within an inch of his life if he touched her apples, and that was that.

/

Dean was taking a nap, as were Alex and Summer, leaving Paige and Connie on the couch flipping through their hunting journals, cataloging their latest hunts.

"He fits in," Connie said suddenly, making Paige glance up from her detailed sketch of the ghost they had ganked about a month before.

"Who?" said Paige blankly.

"Dean," she elaborated. "He fits in."

Brow furrowed, Paige gave her friend a questioning look. "He always did," she said slowly and with a slight question in her tone.

"Yeah," Connie sighed. "It's just . . . grandpa wants him at all the Conclave meetings. The guys treat him like he's a part of the horde. Everyone in town loves him. Grandpa looks at him the same way he looks at Chris or Kyle or the rest of them."

Paige set her hunting journal aside with a frown. "What are you trying to say, Connie?" she asked.

"He makes you happy," Connie said simply.

"Yeah . . .?"

"So, he makes you happy. He's one of us now. He's . . . he's _family_."

Slightly taken aback, Paige studied her friend closely and with a frown. "I guess he is, isn't he?" she decided after a long moment.

And, with a faint smile, went back to sketching as Connie smiled in return and did the same.

/

**E/N**: It's a short one, but I wanted to get it published. A lot of shit goes down in these next few chapters; its stressing me out big time.

**REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS LOVED AND APPRECIATED! :D**


	33. Fires and Sarcasm

**A/N:** TOLD YOU! Bahaha. I am happy to have gotten this done in a mostly timely manner. I am quickly approaching that which I do not want to write, and it sucks. BY ODIN WHY DID I PLAN THIS OUT. Feels. Everywhere.

**Disclaimer:** I own the OCs, and that is all.

/

**Chapter Thirty-Three  
><strong>Fires and Sarcasm

**Thunder Creek, WY  
><strong>April 14, 2001

Jay's was packed to the brim, as it always was on Saturday mornings. The chatter was bright and cheerful, filling up the place and making it even homier than it would have been otherwise. Children's laughter floated around the area. The adults called across the room to each other, getting up to mingle at other tables like a giant dysfunctional family.

Anyone in Thunder Creek would tell you, though, that the best part was the food. There was no such thing as bad food at Jay's Diner, and an even better thing about the man was his perfect memory. People never had to order, they just walked in at their usual time and their plates were being prepped for their tables.

It was one of the better parts about living in a small town, Dean assumed.

Dean sat at the customary Newbern table and sipped his coffee — black, two sugars, just how he liked it — as his eyes scanned the obits of a newspaper from Miami, Florida. His eyes had long-ago been tuned to pick out things that were potentially hunting material. He was only half-listening to the chatter around him as he read the obituaries (most of them were old geezers, nothing new there).

A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye prompted him to turn his head just in time to see and catch the thick manila envelope Paige tossed at him from two tables away. He fumbled, nearly spilling his entire coffee in his lap. Somehow he managed to only slop some of it over his hand, hissing as the hot liquid burned his skin.

"Nice catch," Paige teased, flashing him a cheeky grin and a wink.

Cursing under his breath, Dean wiped up the coffee he'd spilled over his hand and set his coffee down so he could flip her off. Her laughter filtered through the background noise, along with a laugh of a deeper timbre that he recognized as Elliot's.

He had no idea _how _he knew it was Elliot's, he just did, and a quick glance confirmed that, sure enough, she was standing beside Elliot's table talking to him and his girlfriend, a nurse at the local hospital. Her name was Linda. No, that wasn't right. Laura? Lucy? _Lisa_. That was it.

The two women were smiling, but Elliot was grinning with a hint of amused malice, teeth bright in his tanned face.

_Bastard_, Dean thought viciously as he wadded up his now-ruined napkin and shoved it to one side. While his mind was coming up with increasingly creative ways to kill people (mainly Elliot) in slow and painful ways, he picked up the envelope and flipped it over. There were numbers scribbled over the top in John's messy scrawl: 6018 and 6135.

Internally, he groaned, recognizing the latter as his Trial graduation number. He'd been the 6135st person to graduate the Trial since they began in 1889, and had graduated from class 301. For some reason, he knew that the other number was Paige's; she had graduated from class 295 nearly two years before he did.

"Oh great, so we're nothing but numbers now," grumbled Dean as he pulled out his pocket knife and slit the top of the folder open. He pulled out the wad of documents and shoved the condiments, his coffee cup, and his ruined napkin to the far corner of the table so he could spread everything out and look at it.

Frowning now, he picked up the folder and read the title scrawled on the tab: _MEEKER, CO_. MAY 1921-JANUARY 2001.

Now completely absorbed in the information, he sorted through the police reports of six mysterious deaths in the area over the last eighty-odd years.

Dean's brain shifted into hunter mode without him even noticing.

Each and every death consisted of people being burned alive with no fire nearby and no accelerant present.

"Weird," he muttered, flipping through the obits and quickly drawing an outline in his mind. All were male, white, dark haired, brown eyes, and between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-three. The deaths happened every few years, distant enough that no cops had made the connection yet. He winced at the crime scene photos and quickly turned them face-down on the table so that none of the kids would see.

Arms slipping around his neck from behind drew him from his deep thoughts.

"Gruesome, isn't it?" Paige said quietly as she rested her chin on the top of his head and looked down at the file he was reading.

"Mhmm," he agreed, flicking through the eyewitness statements and the interviews with the devastated family members.

"I think it's a spirit of some kind," she continued, rubbing her chin back and forth absently.

Dean focused harder on the written words, trying not to become too distracted by the gesture and the warmth of her body pressed against his back. "Could be," he agreed. "It would explain the lack of accelerant and the distance between each death." Without looking up from what he was reading, he lifted up the envelope to shoulder height and flipped it over so that she could see the numbers. "I take it this is his way of informing us we're on this case together?" he mused.

Paige sighed. "Grandpa does have an odd sense of humor," she informed him.

"Yeah, I noticed," Dean said dryly, remembering the many conversations he'd had with the man. "I will never understand his humor. _Ever_."

"Just because he calls your brother a Moose doesn't mean he's weird," she defended her grandpa, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

Dean scowled. "He calls me _Fidget_."

"Well, you do kind of fidget a lot…"

"I do not _fidget_," he muttered darkly, glaring at the police report he'd given up reading a while ago.

"You do," Paige countered with an amused smile as he slapped the file down on the table and turned his head to look at her. "But only when you're bored. Why do you think he hands you things? When you have something in your hands you don't fidget at much."

Dean snorted and raised an eyebrow. "Somehow I doubt your grandfather hands me guns to clean so that I don't fidget," he deadpanned.

Paige laughed outright at that. "He hands them to you," she pointed out, "but he doesn't tell you to clean them. You do that all on your own."

"I can't _not _take it apart and clean it when he hands it to me," he muttered sullenly, resisting the urge to cross his arms and pout like a four-year-old.

Still smiling, she kissed him on the cheek and slid into the seat beside him.

"We're supposed to leave tomorrow at dawn," Paige told him. "Grandpa wants us to beat the storm that's supposed to come in."

Dean shrugged and leaned forward, setting his elbows on the table as he gestured at the information scattered across the tabletop. Meeker wasn't far, a four hour drive at most. "Am I driving?" he wondered curiously, tracing the path on the map with his eyes. She nodded in his peripheral vision and he grinned. "Good. It's a crime to leave her behind."

"Not my problem you won't let me drive her," Paige teased, flicking his ear.

"I will," he defended himself, "Just not when its, you know, icy."

"Uh-huh."

"No, really!" he laughed, leaning away from her as she lifted a hand to playfully cuff his arm. "When the weather clears up, I will let you drive her. Cross my heart, hope to die."

"Let's _not _hope to die," Paige said, shaking her head. "We don't need to curse this hunt before it even starts."

Dean tried to keep the curiosity out of his voice when he asked, "So, want to tell me why I'm going on a hunt without my partner, and you're going on a hunt without yours?"

"No idea," Paige shrugged. "Grandpa just said this needs to be done, and Chris and Con are both assigned to different hunts right now."

"Together?"

"Nah," she dismissed with a shake of her head. "Constance is training Cole right now, they're on a standard salt-and-burn up in Idaho."

"Cole?" he repeated with a frown. "Cole _Clayborne_, the cocky little shit who likes to mouth off and brag about everything? _That_ Cole?"

She nodded.

Dean's eyebrows furrowed. "That's either going to work really well, or be the biggest disaster in history. Guess we'll have to keep an eye on the news for any reports of mass murder or nuclear explosions in Idaho," he drawled, making her grin and stifle a laugh. "What about Chris? Haven't talked to him since yesterday but we didn't have any hunts assigned then."

Tapping her chin, she wrinkled her brow as she tried to remember what Chris had told her. "Chris said he was being sent up to Michigan with Theo for a possible werewolf, they're leaving in about an hour. He also said he was going to call you before they left, if he had a minute, and that I was supposed to tell you if he got distracted and forgot."

"Not like we're married," Dean shrugged, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. Just because two people were partnered didn't necessarily mean they did every hunt together. John Newbern always made a point to never send anyone out alone (_That's how people die, you goddamn idjits, _Bobby had scowled) but he did occasionally swap partners for certain types of hunts were they would be better complimented to someone else.

Paige just shrugged and started putting everything back in the envelope when she noticed Jay heading their way with the food.

"So, you and me, me and you, both of us, together?" Dean drawled, waggling his eyebrows with a suggestive grin. The sparkle of amusement in his eyes almost stemmed her irritation.

Almost.

The glare she sent him had no real heat behind it and just made his grin widen.

This was going to be fun.

/

"You know the drill," said John as he helped Dean to pack up the trunk of the Impala. "You two get in, get it done, and get out. No dallying. Be careful in the storm. Stay warm. Be—"

"Vigilant," Dean filled in for the older man with a wry grin. "Stick together. Steady hands, open ears, clear eyes, clean shot. I _know_, sir."

John chuckled and thumped him on the back. "You look out for my granddaughter, too," he said gruffly. "Gets herself into too much trouble when people aren't around to watch her back, that one."

"Don't worry, John, I'll watch her six," Dean promised as he slammed the trunk closed.

"Hmph. Try to observe more about her six than her backside, yeah?"

Dean spluttered at that, shooting the older man an incredulous look that made John laugh so hard he was clutching his stomach.

"Oh, if you could see your face, kid," he chortled, clapping Dean on the shoulder again. "Good luck, Dean. Be careful. Remember your training. Call us when you get there."

Cheerfully whistling, the older man strode away towards the barn, where Paige's little brother Gunnar could be seen leading Daybreak from her stall. The boy lifted a hand in an enthusiastic wave that Dean returned with a smile, turning when he heard the front door slam closed.

"What was that all about?" Paige wondered as she trotted down the porch steps, two travel mugs of coffee pinned to her chest with her forearm.

"Oh, nothing much," he admitted, taking her duffel and tossing it in the back seat of the Impala. He snagged one of the travel mugs and set the other in her hand, jerking his head towards the front seat. "C'mon, let's hit the road. I want to get there before the storm gets too bad."

"Gotta love Wyoming," she grinned as she slid into the passenger seat. "Random snowstorms in April. Wonderful, isn't it?"

"Fantastic," Dean deadpanned as he started the engine and pulled out of the spot between Brad's truck and John's. "Remind me again why your dad gave up California to move out here?"

"We like it here." Paige took a sip of her coffee and waved to Jared and Elliot, who were busy repairing one of the paddock fences before the snow started to fall. The two men grinned and waved back before bending over their work again. "It's like living in a giant family. As kids our parents never worried when we ran off in town; there were always a hundred people watching our backs."

Dean made a noncommittal noise and yawned hugely, smothering it with his hand. "You sad that Summer went home already?" he wondered.

"A bit." Paige leaned against the window and watched the fields rolling by as they headed for the interstate. "I talk to her pretty much every day, though, so I'm not overly worried. I'm glad we worked stuff out. I'm still worried about her, though."

"I'm sure she'll be fine."

Paige's tone was wistful when she responded with a faint, "Yeah." Her eyes took on a thousand-yard stare, one that told him she wasn't actually observing the rolling hills dotted with cows and the occasional ranch house.

"Hey," he said softly, putting his hand on her knee to get her attention. She visibly snapped out of it and swung her eyes back to his, their blue depths swirling with worry and fatigue. "She'll be alright, trust her. She knows what she's doing."

A faint smile was her only response before she dropped her eyes to the dashboard, her brows furrowing in that way they did when she was thinking too hard.

"Enough thinking," said Dean firmly, "when was the last time you got some sleep?"

"Uh…"

Dean shot her a half-hearted glare and confiscated her coffee. "If you can't remember, it was too long," he said briskly, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to the backseat. "Take a nap. You'll feel better."

It took the span of two blinks for Paige to recover from her shock. He was acting like…like _Noah_. "What on Earth has gotten into you?" she wondered, extremely confused.

"Your grandfather threatened to murder me himself if I don't watch your six. Get some sleep, you'll be more focused. We can figure out our game plan when we get to Colorado."

Too tired to argue with him, she slid over into the back seat and noted there were two pillows and a thick wool blanket. She sighed and laid down, smushing her face into the pillow and inhaling his unique scent. Her calloused fingertips gently traced over the crude D.W. that was carved beside the S.W. A faint smile curved her lips as she imagined John's expression after catching the two of them defiling his car.

She closed her eyes and was asleep in seconds.

/

A voice disrupted her dreamless sleep.

"Hey, we're here."

Mumbling incoherently, Paige squinted up at the blurry face above her.

"Wha . . . ?"

A partly blurry hand entered her field of vision, and she reached up to take her glasses and slip them on her face, blinking a few times as Dean's face came into focus above her.

"Morning, sunshine," Dean teased with a cheeky grin, moving backwards and sitting on the bed beside hers.

"What?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes as she sat up. "Why's it smell like gun oil?"

Blinking a few times, she glanced around and realized that she was sitting in a motel room. Dean was sitting on the second bed, a towel spread out over the comforter and his gun in pieces, clearly halfway through cleaning it.

"You passed out," he explained, going back to cleaning his handgun, head bent to his work.

Paige rubbed a hand over her face vigorously and yawned. "How long was I out? And how on Earth did you get me up here?"

"We got here about four hours ago, so you've been out for eight," he replied dryly, finishing up scrubbing before he set the piece down on the towel and looked up at her with one eyebrow arched. "And you are not _that _heavy, thank you. I was more than capable of carrying you up here."

"Why didn't you just wake me up?"

"Well, you were tired. And when I wake you up from a nap you usually try to stab me, so I figured, safer to just carry you here."

Conceding his point, Paige threw the covers back and swung her legs over, smothering another yawn with her hand. "Is it snowing yet?"

Dean's snort was just loud enough for her to hear. "It is snowing, she says," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head but not looking up from his work.

Paige frowned and moved to the window, pulling the curtain back to look outside. She blinked and then groaned aloud. Everything outside was a solid white. "Wonderful," she groaned. "How long is this supposed to last?"

"Two days, at least," Dean responded, jerking his chin towards the muted television, which was on the weather station. The current temperature outside was negative twelve. "It's awful out there, went down earlier to get the weapons duffel. Almost lost sight of the building, but I figured I might as well have something to do if we're going to be stuck in here for a day, at least."

"Well, that's unlike you," said Paige teasingly, flicking his ear as she passed him on the way to the bathroom. "Usually you'd be making sexual innuendos like nobody's business. Are you sick or something?" she called to him from the bathroom while she brushed her hair.

When he didn't respond, she rolled her eyes and muttered impolite things about boys and their obsessions with firearms. Christopher was always doing the same thing.

She was in the middle of braiding her hair when she looked up and saw that Dean was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, green eyes watching her every move.

"You're being unusually quiet today," Paige observed. "The hunt shouldn't take us _that _long, provided we can figure out what it is in a decent amount of time. And provided the weather holds. Why on earth did that daft old bat send us _now _of all times? I mean, honestly, the weather is complete shit right now, as if we can just go bumbling about in a blizzard digging up corpses, I mean, the ground is going to be a bitch to dig through…"

Dean's lips quirked upward faintly as he moved forward, putting his hands on her shoulders. Without saying a word, he turned off the light, took her hand, and gently pulled her back into the room.

/

Paige woke slowly from a very deep sleep. She decided that she didn't want to get up yet, so she just let herself relax for a while. When she did finally open her eyes, she couldn't help but smile.

Dean was clinging to her like she was a human body pillow, holding her firmly against his chest. His breathing was soft an even, each exhale stirring the hair at the top of her head.

Nature was calling, rather loudly in fact. Paige carefully tried to extract herself from his embrace but his arms tightened and pulled her back against him with a sleepy mumble.

Paige sighed, her face now plastered against his pectoral muscle. With some creative wiggling, she managed to get into a comfortable position. Apparently, Dean was a clingy sleeper. Good to know.

"Dean," she said quietly, fingers trailing through the hair at the back of his neck. He stirred slightly, nuzzling his face into the top of her head. "Dean," she tried again, louder this time, "wake up. I have to pee."

He mumbled something she couldn't make out.

"Dean," she groaned. "_Wake up_."

"Don't want to," he mumbled in her ear.

"I have to pee," she told him, slightly exasperated by that point. "Can you let go of me, please?"

One sleepy grumble of agreement later, his arms released her and she moved away, hurrying to the bathroom. She took a shower just warm enough to wake her up and pulled her T-shirt and shorts back on. When she re-entered the room he was awake and watching her in the dim light of predawn.

Blushing slightly, she got back under the covers and rolled to face him.

"Don't be like that," he said quietly, pulling her into his arms. He grinned at the irony. "How can you be shy after all we — ?"

"I remember," she assured him quickly, covering his mouth with her hand.

He kissed her fingers and grinned at her, shaking his head. "You're adorable," he chuckled, kissing her on the forehead. "Come on, I distinctly remember every second of last night, an — " he trailed off abruptly when he saw her expression, a faint smile curving his lips at her attitude.

Paige gave him a dark look, eyes daring him to finish that sentence.

Exasperated, he rolled his eyes at her red cheeks and laughed. "Come on," he said, sitting up. "The storm is over; we should get to work on the hunt."

"Mmm," she agreed, watching him as he headed to the bathroom. She forced herself to get out of bed and get dressed.

When he emerged he paused to pull on a pair of boxers and his jeans before reaching out to pull her back against his chest, kissing the back of her neck and across the top of her shoulders.

"I thought we were working," she whispered as she leaned back into his touch.

"I said we _should_, not that I wanted to," he corrected.

"We really should," she said, pulling slightly away.

"Buzz kill," he murmured into the skin of her neck, but he released her.

"C'mon, cowboy," she teased, pulling on a shirt. "We've got a spirit to kill."

"You mean kill again," Dean corrected with a smirk as he pulled on his leather jacket and followed her out the door.

"Whatever," Paige said, rolling her eyes as she slid the hotel key into her back pocket.

"That the best comeback you can come up with?" he taunted.

Paige rolled her eyes and grinned up at him. "Go to hell."

He laughed and slung his arm over her shoulders, pulling her into his side and kissing the top of her head. "No thanks, it would probably burn my eyebrows off," he joked.

"What a tragedy."

"Oh, you know it."

Their voices carried on bickering all the way down to the continental breakfast.

/

Dean was looking down at the file in his hands, walking around the corner of the stone building. He looked up just in time to flinch backwards with a loud, "_Jesus!"_

"Well, I'm flattered," Connie drawled, grinning at his flustered expression.

Swearing a blue streak under his breath, Dean jerked his jacket straight and attempted to collect his pride, snapping the file shut and glaring at her. "There is a special place in hell for you," he growled.

Connie grinned brightly, far too brightly for someone who had just been insulted. "Oh, I know," she agreed with a smirk. "It's called _the throne_."

"Well gee, aren't you modest," he grumbled as he crossed his arms and glared at her. "What the _hell _are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be babysitting Princess Douchebag."

Flipping her hand as if to say _forget about it_, she shrugged and rolled her eyes. "Cole?" she snorted. "The bloody idiot fell down a mine shaft. I'll rescue his sorry ass later. What _is _it with you men and having to be pulled out of mine shafts all the time, anyway?"

"Subtle," he said dryly, remembering all-too-well his own painful descent down a damned mine shaft in the hunt of a blackdog.

"Not in my vocabulary, pretty boy. Now, come on, chop chop. You've done a bang up job on this hunt so far."

Dean swore again as she shoulder-checked him while she sauntered past, snatching the file out of his hand and wiggling her hips mockingly as she strode back towards the hotel and her hunting partner.

"And Paige _wonders_ why I don't like you," he said darkly as he turned on his heel and, against his better judgment, followed her. He lengthened his stride to catch up with her. "So, do you always abandon hunting partners?"

"Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch, Princess, good old gramps asked me to come check on y'all, since you haven't had anything to report."

"In case it escaped your notice, _your_ _highness_, it's been snowing for the past day and a half. We couldn't see three feet in front of our faces, let along hunt a goddamn spirit that is setting people on fire!"

"My, my, Winchester. Defensive much?"

Dean opened his mouth to retort he hadn't gotten much sleep last night and then realized how that would sound and snapped his mouth shut instead. Fuming internally, he stalked beside her without saying a word, suppressing the urge to get into yet another verbal sparring match with her.

He didn't know what it was about Constance Brennan, she just rubbed him the wrong damn way and pissed him off nine times out of ten.

And now she was here, and it would undoubtedly complicate an already complicated situation.

Paige was busy with research when they entered the hotel room, files spread out all over the bed he'd been cleaning his prized Colt 1911 on yesterday. She didn't glance up from her laptop when the door opened.

"That was fast, Dean, I thought you said you were going to talk to the cops," she said absently, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders a little tighter.

"Ello," Connie said as she sauntered over, raising her eyebrow as she looked from the pristine bed with its comforter undisturbed to the second bed with the sheets and blankets in a tangle and pillows half on the floor. Dean glared at her, and she sighed, appearing to drop the subject.

"I thought you were babysitting Princess Douchebag," Paige said dryly, still not looking up from her laptop screen, where she appeared to be reading some kind of file.

"Yeah, well, mine shafts. What can you do, right?"

"_Please_ tell me you pushed him into it."

"Maybe," Connie hedged with a faint grin. "So, what's the diagnosis?"

"Well, Dean and I are pretty sure that the spirit is a woman, and that she was cheated on, and that she burned herself, her cheating fiancé, and his mistress to death in his cabin on May 29, 1921. For some reason, she remained as a spirit, and does the same thing to men that meet the description of her fiancé."

Connie caught the file Paige tossed at her and compared the first man to the victims. Similar parameters, not perfect, but close enough.

"There was a lull, the second attack was in 1935, when they demolished the ruins of _her _cabin, not the one she killed the victims and herself in, and built a new one. The first man to live in that house was burned alive, but the years are totally random. Now the land has an abandoned house on it, but the years she attacks are totally random. I really don't get it; the police have nothing, but local legend calls it the Cursed House, because so many people who have lived there have died—but only the cheating men. It doesn't make any sense."

"A spirit that doesn't fit normal parameters?"

"Maybe," Paige shrugged, rubbing her forehead. "Dean and I were going to head over there tonight with the EMF to see if we could find any clues."

"Well, let's get to it, then."

And that was how Dean found himself in the Impala, headed to a haunting house with a murdering psychopathic pyromaniac spirit of a woman, and with Constance Brennan sniping at him from the back seat.

Dean decided to hoof it alone, leaving the two partners to go together. The EMF was flickering from zero to max, buzzing in his hand. He scratched the back of his head and continued down the hallway, keeping an eye and ear out for anything that could be amiss.

/

Paige walked behind Connie, one eye on the flickering EMF readings and the other on her hunting partner as they crept through the half-destroyed ruins of a long-abandoned home.

"Some of this stuff could be leftover," Connie murmured, absently touching her finger to a very ancient looking mirror. "Maybe the spirit is attached to that?"

"Maybe," Paige allowed. "But why does she kill at random? It doesn't make any sense. There's no pattern, not really, other than what the men look like and how she kills them."

"Spirits, man. Just as confusing as people."

"Except they're not. They follow rules, patterns. They act out because of pain or fear or grief, rarely ever just because. I mean sure, sometimes they're just spirits of psycho killers, but most of the time the spirits have reasons. Most of them are violent deaths. So why aren't the fiancé and his mistress spirits as well? They were brutally murdered."

Connie rubbed her hand absently up and down her thigh. She shrugged and without turning around mused, "Maybe they just made the choice to go when the reapers came for them."

Paige stopped abruptly, looking up at her friend. "What?" she said, stunned.

"Reapers," Connie repeated, turning around to face her. "You know, the guys who come and collect you when it's time to die? The guys who are Death's little minions?"

"I _know _what a reaper is, thank you."

"I just mean, maybe they went with the reapers. The only people who become spirits are those who choose to stay behind. Most of the time they do it to stay with their family, until their family all die and move on or forget, so they descend into madness and start acting out their own pain."

Connie sensed her partner's eyes and turned her head to see Paige's incredulous look.

"What?" she said grumpily, shifting her shotgun back against her shoulder. "I observe these things."

"Connie . . . when you say your dad is really a demon, you aren't kidding, are you?"

There was a long silence as they moved through the house, but Connie didn't answer. It was so long, in fact, that Paige didn't think she would answer at all, until Connie eventually whispered, "No."

Giving her partner's back an odd look, Paige sighed and glanced back down at the EMF as it spiked. "Connie," she whispered, reaching up to prod her partner.

Except her partner was unconscious on the ground, without having made a damn sound.

Paige slowly looked up to find herself face-to-face with the spirit. She opened her mouth to scream for Dean and swung her shotgun around, but before she could do either, heat enveloped her arm as the walls around them went up in flame.

/

The smoke clogged her throat, filled her lungs. She tried to call out but couldn't speak past the tightness of her throat; tried to breathe but was forced to wheeze as she clawed at her throat and tried to see through the orange glow flickering off the thick black smoke that had filled the room. The spirit's screeches filled her ears, followed by a voice she vaguely recognized as Connie's; and the sound of a shotgun report going off and _those were Dean's footsteps._

"_Winchester, what the _fuck_ are you _doing?"

"WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, PRINCESS?"

"Duck, you idiot!"

An explosion echoed through her head as the ground shook and dirt rained down on her face, but she couldn't breathe, couldn't see through the smoke. Pain burned on her left arm, filled her nerve endings.

"_Where's Paige?"_

"She was right behind me!"

"_WHERE IS SHE?"_

"Oh shit, over there Dean!"

"You gank this bitch," Dean barked as his face appeared above her. His skin glowed strangely in the light from the flames, flickering from light to shadow, hazy in the smoke. She thought she detected a faint tremor in his voice but she was too busy coughing to know for sure.

Oh. She'd been coughing. That explained the throat.

Damn she hated smoke.

"Come on, I'm getting you out of here," Dean grunted, scooping her up in his arms.

/

Considering how much his hands were shaking, Dean found it amazing that he could drive the car, let alone get them through the door of the hotel room. He pushed back his nausea for the time being, willed his hands to stop shaking and wished the clammy sweat would disappear from his forehead.

Paige was quiet in the circle of his arm, cradling her singed arm to her chest. She had said little since they finished off the spirit other than completely nerve-racking, gasping coughs that ripped Dean's heart out every time he heard them and spotted the pinker-than-normal shade of the skin of her arm. The terror that had grasped his mind when he thought she was on fire—_oh god not again pleaseanythingbutthat—_nearly consuming him.

"Shower?" he suggested softly, steering her into the bathroom. Her clothes were singed and she smelled like smoke. He didn't smell much better. He was just glad it was three in the morning and no one had been around to see the two soot-smudged, singed hunters.

Woodenly she nodded, not making eye contact. Her eyes were glassy, her breathing shallow. He helped her out of her jacket, being gentle with her arm, and she was seized by another coughing fit.

Dean circled an arm around her waist and held her up as her legs trembled, the coughing fit leaving her weak and gasping for oxygen. "Why are you coughing this bad?" he asked, leveraging her down onto the toilet seat and brushing her hair out of her face. His thumbs smudged the soot on her cheeks but he didn't notice.

"Smoke," she rasped weakly, leaning her cheek against his bicep as her eyelids fluttered. "Shock. Inhaler. Bag."

Leaning her against the wall, he dragged her bag over and dug through it until he came up with a plastic bag. He tore it open and rummaged through it, hand closing around a white inhaler with a silver top.

"Is this it?" he demanded, holding it up.

Paige nodded weakly and reached for it. Dean steadied her hand as she closed her lips around it and pressed the top, inhaling deeply and holding her breath for a long moment before exhaling. "Thanks," she whispered, putting the cap back on it and pushing it towards him. He tossed it in the bag.

"Are you allergic to smoke?"

"Cigar smoke," she said, her voice still raspy. "Cigarettes make me cough, so do pipes. Smoke in general just isn't good."

Worrying his lip, Dean sighed and rocked back on his heels. "We reek of smoke. Do you want to take a shower first, or…?"

She answered him by rolling her eyes and pulling her shirt off. "Can't wash my hair very well with one hand," she deadpanned, and despite his churning stomach, he managed a half smile.

The shower was quick and clinical, the water warm enough to wash off the soot and sweat of the nearly-disastrous hunt. Drying off quickly, they both pulled on sweat pants and a T-shirt before crawling into bed and facing each other.

Dean pointedly didn't glance up at the ceiling. He swallowed, hard, and brushed her still-wet hair away from her forehead.

"You okay?" he wondered. "Will your breathing bother you?"

"No," she said, voice still raspy from the smoke. "I'm okay."

Doing his best to ignore the tightness in his chest, he rested his hand on her hip, eyes fixed on the pinkish skin of her left arm. "Do you need to see a doctor for that?"

Paige shook her head. "First degree," she whispered, watching him as he sat up and grabbed the medical kit, digging around with it for a moment until he found gauze. He then gently grasped her wrist and maneuvered her arm so that her elbow rested on his thigh, elevating her arm and making it easier to wrap. He wound the gauze carefully, spanning her entire forearm, being sure to keep it loose enough that it wouldn't irritate the skin but tight enough that it would keep air from aggravating the irritated tissue. All the while, he silently thanked the Brotherhood for their crash-course in field medication at the Trials.

When he was done, he kissed her on the wrist and gently settled her arm back across her chest, turning his back on her to shove everything back in the med kit and toss it next to his duffel bag.

"Where's Connie?" she asked quietly.

"Got called back to TC, something about Cole being in Intensive Care. She burned the house to the ground. Whatever was holding the spirit there is gone now."

A coughing fit seized her for a moment, until she found she could breathe again.

"Dean, are you okay?" she whispered, touching his lower back hesitantly.

"I'm fine," he assured her, laying back down with a sigh.

Paige noticed how he pointedly did _not _look at the ceiling, keeping his eyes fixed on her. It was then that she understood, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly as she scooted over and settled herself against his side, nuzzling her face into his shoulder.

"I'm okay, Dean," she promised. "No demon, no fire, no ceiling. I'm right here."

Dean crushed her to him, kissing her forehead and forcing himself to not think about that night, or the fire, or his mom pinned to the ceiling. "I thought I lost you," he whispered.

"I know," she whispered back, "but you didn't."

"I was terrified."

"Me too," she sniffed, her eyes suddenly stinging with tears. She would forever remember the panic as she coughed desperately, unable to move or breathe, while her sleeve caught on fire; the sheer overpowering relief of watching him crash through the smoke guns blazing, of watching the spirit dissolve into nothingness. It was vague, but she remembered his panicked voice, his strong arm pulling her upwards and away, into fresh air where she could _breathe _blessed oxygen again, leaning against him weakly while hacking coughs drained energy from her entire body.

If he hadn't been there she would have died; either by burning to death, or by lack of oxygen as her throat closed up.

And that terrified her, more than the near-death experience in the lake ever had.

"Don't do that to me again," he rasped, intending to sound stern, but instead sounding desperate. "I can't lose you like I lost her, Paige, _I can't._"

Paige nodded against his throat and just lay there in comfortable silence, running over the incident again and again in her head.

"I could have died today, Dean," she murmured against his throat, noting the way he stiffened and his arm tightened around her. "You saved my life."

"Of course I did," he muttered; as if he would have just left her there to die. Never. He would never leave anyone to die, ever.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, intent on finishing what she had meant to say all along. "I realized today than anything can happen," she said softly, very aware of her arm stinging even with the gauze bandage. "Shit happens, Dean. Any moment could be our last."

"Where are you going with this?" he murmured, rubbing his chin on the top of her head. He had to ask, even though he could guess where she was headed.

"I love you, Dean," she whispered, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and tightening her arm around him. "I don't expect an answer. I just wanted you to know."

Dean rolled over and pulled her completely into his arms, locking his arms around her. He wanted to say it, but the words stuck in his throat. She seemed to understand, because she simply tightened her arm around him and closed her eyes, letting herself fall asleep.

He stayed up most of the night, avoiding looking at the ceiling, and wondering how his dad had ever managed to get out of bed every day after his mom had died.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<strong>  
>May 1, 2001<p>

Warmer weather came with May, and found Paige spending a lot of time at home with her younger siblings. Gunner was getting big and loved to play sports, while Lil was a girlie girl who loved doing arts and crafts and other such things. Garrett was the most like her dad, big for his age and kind, but with a fierce determination and absolute love for sports.

Sipping her coffee at the kitchen table, Paige idly flipped through the reports she and Connie had filed over the last two months. She had finished training Cole as well as she could and he was currently paired with Theo, the only other member of the horde willing to put up with his shit for extended periods of time, which meant that Connie was free to hunt with her again.

Grandpa had kept them busy the last month or so; she had hardly been home at all, and hadn't seen Dean once since their hunt in Colorado. A faint blush tinted her cheeks at the memory.

There were a lot of hunts to do, and everyone was busy. Grandpa was up late most nights on the phone, organizing things with the Roadhouse and passing information along to the proper channels. Her dad spent a lot of time in the office with him while they alternated between business affairs and hunting responsibilities. Dean and Chris had been just as busy as her and Con, so busy that Chris had barely seen Amy or JB for the past month and was getting increasingly cranky about it. She hadn't seen Dean for the same reason and according to Chris, Dean was acting like a bear being poked with a stick.

Needless to say, Paige was glad to have a break, even if that meant being stuck babysitting while Amy and Debbie headed to the store to get stuff for the family gathering planned for the weekend. The boys were playing catch outside, Lil was busy painting a picture for their grandmother's upcoming birthday, and JB was napping in the nursery upstairs.

A faint pop made her jump slightly and look up to see Connie brushing dust off her coat. She made herself a cup of coffee and sat down across the table from her friend, reading the reports upside down.

"Bored?" she guessed with a grin. Biases

Paige raised an eyebrow. "How'd you guess?" she deadpanned.

Chuckling, Connie set her coffee down. "So, quite an adventure, that Colorado hunt. Too bad I got called away to save His Royal Highness Princess Prissiness," she remarked casually as her lips curled into a faint smirk.

"Mmm," Paige hummed without looking up, flipping the page to continue her reading.

"Did that chick really set you on fire?"

She shrugged and took a sip of her coffee, still not looking up. "Just my sleeve. I put it out myself but got a little burned."

"Come on, usually it's us setting the fire, not the other way around. It had to have freaked you out, just a little bit."

Snapping her gaze up, Paige glared fiercely at Connie for a long moment before looking back down, turning the page with more force than was strictly necessary.

Curious, Connie thought to herself, tilting her head to one side. There were dark circles under her friend's eyes and she looked paler than usual, clear signs she hadn't been sleeping well.

"Water doesn't bother you," she pointed out quietly.

When Paige met her gaze again, it was with confusion and a delicate arching of her left eyebrow. What has that got to do with anything? she clearly conveyed without having to say a word.

"You and Summer almost drowned — "

"I remember."

" — but you aren't afraid of water. You are just a much of a fish now as you were then. So why does fire suddenly bother you?"

Paige shrugged and looked down again. "I don't know," she admitted quietly, pressing her hand down onto the report as she bit her lip. "It just does. I just need time, I think. It… it scared me. Scared Dean, too." She frowned and focused her eyes on the tabletop, tracing patterns in the wood with her index finger. "Hell, Connie, it terrified him. I've never seen him like that before. For me, it was more the smoke, not being able to breathe . . . for him, it was more the fire."

Understandable, considering his history, Connie mused. If she'd seen her mother burned to death on the ceiling, she wouldn't be particularly fond of fire, either.

"You slept with him, didn't you?" she guessed.

Paige choked on her coffee and almost dropped her mug, staring at Connie through watering eyes.

"Blunt much?" she rasped before coughing violently for a moment — her lungs did not appreciate the caffeine.

Connie's lips curled into her signature smirk.

Rolling her eyes, Paige cleaned the table with her napkin and muttered curses under her breath in three languages.

Making a show of looking around curiously, Connie asked, "So where is pretty boy, anyway?"

Giving Connie a strange look, Paige said, "On a hunt with Chris. They're up in Yellowstone."

That tidbit distracted Connie for a moment. Yellowstone? "Doing what, killing grizzly bears?"

"Nah, a spirit."

"Random place for a haunting . . ."

It was Paige's turn to smirk. "We don't pick the hauntings, Con." She tossed the rag in the sink. "Besides, you avoid him like the plague when he's here, anyway."

"Hmph," grunted Connie.

"Why is that, anyway?"

"The last thing I need is John Winchester up my ass because he thinks I'm the antichrist," Connie snorted.

"Well . . . you kind of are."

"The female version," Connie corrected.

"Close enough."

"Well, I kind of lack some necessary reproductive equipment . . ."

"I hope so," Paige laughed, "because that would be awkward. What would we call you, Constantine or Connor?"

Connie threw a balled up napkin at Paige that was swiftly ducked.

"What about your boy toy?" asked Paige curiously.

Freezing, Connie turned slowly to look at her. "What boy toy?"

Deciding to ignore the clear threat of violence in her friend's eyes, Paige pushed on. "I'm not stupid, Constance. I know you're seeing someone."

Almost instantly, Connie clammed up.

"What's his name?" Paige pressed.

A glare that could peel paint was the only response Connie gave her.

"Connie, come on! What's his name?"

"He's a hunter," Connie admitted through gritted teeth.

Paige studied her for a long moment. "That's all you're going to give me, isn't it?" she said dryly.

"Yep."

"Cruel. . ." sighed Paige.

"Deal with it."

"Not even a name?" she whined.

"Nope." Connie popped her lips on the 'p'.

Paige sighed and Connie grinned over her victory. Silence fell as the two finished their breakfast, taking a break from the mutual interrogations to get some food and coffee in their systems. At this point, the coffee was the most important and they chugged it like it was the elixir of life.

"So," Connie pressed, "how was it?"

"Not going to talk about it, Con, so don't bother."

Connie pouted. "You're no fun," she sighed. "I still can't believe you waited almost a whole year . . ."

Paige shrugged. "We didn't want our relationship to revolve around sex," she said simply. "Now we have a relationship built on mutual friendship and respect."

"You sound like a relationship textbook," snorted Connie.

"Oh, shut up," laughed Paige, sticking her tongue out at her.

Connie returned the gesture and the pair broke into laughter.

"We sound like four-year-old's."

"Or immature teenagers," Connie added.

"Ha! You, maybe, but I'm twenty."

"Well, aren't you special," she mocked, miming Paige's facial expressions and exaggerating them.

"Can it, kid."

"I'm not a kid!"

"You're not even eighteen yet!"

"It's not my fault I have a stupid September birthday!" Connie grumbled sullenly, crossing her arms.

"Wah wah wah," Paige mocked, grinning wickedly.

"I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah. Hate you too, Con."

/

**E/N**: Bah, finally. Struggled forever on the hunting scene. Decided to skim the details they're not important anyway.

**REVIEWS ARE LOVED! :D**


	34. Daring to Hope

**A/N: **I liiiiiiiiiive! Mostly. College sucks balls. So does family sometimes. Alas my muse has returned, the story is mapped out finally (THANK YOU CONSTANCE I WOULD BE LOST WITHOUT YOU) and I'm writing like the wind before college starts again. Also this is not Beta'd so feel free to point out any mistakes.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, save my OCs.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Four<br>**Daring to Hope

**Thunder Creek, WY  
><strong>May 9, 2001

"Garrett, widen your stance a little," Paige said sternly from the front of the class. She moved through the lines of kids to adjust how he was standing. "There. Better. See how you balance your weight equally on both feet? And be sure to keep your knee bent, Kelly, it makes it harder for people to push you over."

Paige smiled and watched as the kids for the Saturday morning combat class bumbled through their positions. Most of them were young and uncoordinated, but they had a zest for learning this stuff that could potentially save them later on in life.

"I'll let Travis lead you guys for a while," she announced, nodding at her younger step-brother.

Eighteen-year-old Travis offered a shy smile and moved to the front of the class, adjusting his glasses on his thin freckled nose before clearing his throat and instructing the kids on basic holds and how to get out of them.

Paige left him to it, wiping her sleeve across her forehead as she moved to the side of the room opposite from where the parents were observing.

Connie offered her a glass of ice tea that she accepted gratefully. "How's the arm?" she said in lieu of greeting, watching as one of the little boys stumbled and fell.

"Fine," said Paige, crunching on a piece of ice. "The kids are picking this stuff up quickly. Hard to believe that two weeks ago they couldn't even do a decent athletic stance."

"I will never understand why you drag your ass out of bed at the asscrack of dawn to teach kids how to beat each other up."

"Not _each other_, Connie, come on," Paige corrected. "Learning this," she waved towards the group of kids, "saved our lives more than once."

"True," Connie allowed with a faint smirk. "Whatever would you do without me to pull you out of mine shafts?"

Paige shot her friend an exasperated look. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?" she said dryly.

Connie grinned. "Nope."

"You sound far too cheerful. What the hell are you doing up at this hour? It's not even eight yet and grandma won't be making breakfast for at least another hour."

"Couldn't sleep," she shrugged in a dismissive fashion. "Thought I'd watch the sunrise, or whatever it is you weird people do." Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Paige sipping her drink. The circles under her eyes were even darker than before. "You been having nightmares?" she guessed quietly.

Starting slightly, she turned to meet Connie's eyes and sighed. There was no point lying. "A few," she admitted. "Most of them involving me burning to death. Those that don't feature Dean never coming back, anyway." She shrugged and stared down at the ice cubes floating in her tea, adding, "It's stupid, Con. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

"Right. Because you're always fine, right?" Connie said sarcastically, resisting the urge to roll her eyes when all Paige did was smile.

"Better get back to it. Thanks for the tea, Con."

"Mmm," grunted Connie, watching Paige take up her position beside Travis again.

Getting anything out of this family is like pulling teeth, she thought to herself grumpily as she made her way to the kitchen. Maybe if she was lucky Mary would cook breakfast early, because she was _starving_.

* * *

><p><strong>Yellowstone Park<br>**May 9, 2001

If Dean wasn't being so goddamn annoying, Chris would have found the entire situation hilarious.

As it was, his hunting partner had begun to resemble a bear that was getting crankier by the day. He himself wasn't in the best of moods, either—he'd barely seen Amy at all in the past month and had seen his son even less. So, to distract himself, he had started out by being amused by Dean's irritation.

That first week after the hunt in Colorado, he'd been acting a little off. He kept opening his mouth and turning around to say something to someone who wasn't there, and then he'd just brush it off and try to act natural. When they woke up in the mornings, Chris would glance over at Dean's bed and see him sleeping on his side with his arm outstretched.

Dean's snark had gotten worse and worse, until he was all but growling at everyone and everything. His temper was short and he was extremely snappish, especially towards law enforcement. Luckily for them the FBI already had a reputation as being dicks or it could have been a lot worse.

For God's sake, Dean had been the worst the one week they were back in Thunder Creek. He'd literally heard the other man's teeth grind when they'd found out that Paige and Connie were on a hunt in Texas. If looks could kill, his grandpa would be dead a dozen times over by now.

At least he'd gotten to spend time with Amy and his little guy. Dean had spent about half of the time bonding with JB, and the other half brooding like a teenager.

The attitude had long since gotten on Chris' nerves. He missed having conversations with his friend where he didn't get snapped at.

"Dean," Chris said to get his attention.

Dean looked up at him, his brows furrowed downwards. "What?" he said irritably.

"Can you quit with the snapping and the growling and get your ass over here to look at this?" he requested evenly, inclining his head at his laptop screen. "Grandpa just sent us a possible hunt in Kansas."

"I fucking hate Kansas," Dean grumbled, but he crossed the room anyway to pull up a chair and sit beside him.

"What's wrong with Kansas?"

"Last time we were there we almost got barbequed. The time before that, we almost got killed by a psycho bitch with a machete. The time before _that _we had to jump off that goddamn roof because of the poltergeist — "

"Okay, _I get it_," Chris cut him off loudly, wincing at the memories, "you fucking hate Kansas. Maybe this time we'll get lucky and not almost get skewered."

"Chris, that almost happened the time _before_ that shit with the poltergeist."

"_Dean_."

Dean just grinned.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<br>**May 22, 2001

Paige raised her eyebrow in question, walking silently up behind Connie, where the younger woman was busy at the front door with a lock pick in her hands. She hadn't heard from Connie since the ninth, when she'd come to give her tea at morning hand-to-hand practice; grandpa had sent her off on some specialized hunt that didn't require any help and she'd turned in her report but hadn't come back. One brief voicemail was all she'd gotten to ensure herself that Connie was alive, something about needing a "vacation".

Despite the fact she was annoyed, she couldn't help but be amused. Connie looked like hell and her clothing was rumpled.

"Goddamn this door, who makes doors like this? It's fucking Wyoming, not the Louvre, for Satan's sake," Constance was muttering, the lock pick scraping methodically as she struggled to unlock it.

Biting back a grin, Paige halted about six feet behind her friend, out of the range of Connie's arms. "Lose your key?" she asked with obnoxious cheerfulness given the early hour.

Connie's reaction was predictable. She yelped and jerked away from the door, swinging her fists in Paige's direction. She ended up over-balancing from her crouched position and landed hard enough on first her knee and then her hip to elicit a sharp curse.

"Graceful," Paige drawled with a grin.

"Shut up," Connie groaned, rolling over so she could get to her feet easier. When she did get to her feet she staggered slightly as blood returned to her starved limbs. In her peripheral vision she saw Paige opening her mouth to say something else and pointed at her without actually looking. "Still shut up," she warned, rubbing her abused anatomy and muttering under her breath. "Hells bells, it's not even six in the morning yet, why the fuck am I even awake. . ."

Biting back another grin, Paige silently offered Connie the key to their apartment that the younger blonde snatched out of her hand without comment. A moment later the door was unlocked and she was making a beeline for the kitchen with Paige a few steps behind her, considering she'd paused to close the door and toe off her shoes.

"Where the hell is all the food?" Connie yelled from the kitchen, her voice full of nothing but frustration.

"Not in the fridge?" Paige offered as she seated herself at the barstool. "Oh, you know, good morning, by the way. Nice to see you. Glad you're _alive_," she growled, glaring at her hunting partner.

Connie flapped her hand dismissively. "It was just a mine shaft and I was fine. Cole is the one you should have been worrying about," she responded absently, busy digging around in the fridge for any salvageable food. She was fucking _starving_.

"So where the _hell _have you been? One voicemail was all I got. Honest to Christ, you could have at least _let me know_ when you were going to be back. I was worried, damn it."

"Oh," Connie winced. "Sorry. Took a pit stop at the Grand Canyon, then I fancied a quick hop to Australia for the opera. Then decided I wanted to be in Paris for a while, you know, improve the accent."

"Your French accent is terrible," Paige pointed out as she snagged the last apple from the fruit bowl and watched in great amusement while her younger sister searched in vain for something she could actually eat.

"Hence why I was in Paris to practice," Connie shot back, poking her head over the top of the fridge to glare at her. She pointed at the apple and shouted, "Where the hell did _that _come from?"

"The fruit bowl." Paige crunched extra loudly just to make a point before deciding to take pity on her obviously starved sister/friend/hunting partner/whatever. "C'mon. I've been dying for some of Jay's pancakes, anyway," she sighed, tossing Connie the three quarters of the apple that was left and all but dragging her out of the apartment to breakfast.

It was a quick but silent ride, and they were one of the first groups in the diner. Jay looked mildly surprised to see them there so early but told the cook to start their regular breakfast orders anyway and was bringing their coffee by a moment later.

"Coffee," Connie grunted while Paige and Jay watched her in great amusement. She downed one and a half cups piping hot before she even felt remotely human again. At least this early it only took a few minutes for Jay to bring their food by, skillfully evading Connie's fork stab when he tried to take her coffee cup and give her a fresh one. He just topped off her current cup and left without comment.

Paige sipped her own coffee and held back her grin several times as the regular early morning crowd started to filter in and were genuinely surprised to see them there. Connie was not a morning person in any sense of the word and looked irritable and snarly, snapping at anyone who even looked sideways at her or bothered her in any way shape or form. Paige bothered her tons, poking her on the arm, telling her to rise and shine, smell the roses, look alive because the Earth was saying hello, all while trying to steal the extra bacon Jay had put on her plate.

Connie stabbed her forearm hard enough to draw blood and tucked into her breakfast like a half-starved wolf pup. Paige had to constantly remind her to put her napkin in her lap, stop slurping her coffee, take small bites, don't talk with your mouth full.

"Okay, mother," Connie growled, a bit of egg flying onto her plate.

"Classy," said Paige dryly, biting into her own toast.

An inelegant snort was the only answer she received. They ate in comfortable silence, feeling human once their stomachs were full and coffee cups newly topped off.

"So," said Connie carefully while keeping her eyes on her plate, "heard from Dean lately?"

"Not much," Paige sighed, folding the paper and setting it on the booth beside her. "Talked to him about ten days ago, he was on a hunt with Chris in Kansas that's taking way longer than they thought it would."

Biting her lip, Connie wondered the best way to go about the next question. Paige looked no better than she had on the ninth, but she didn't look worse. Just tired. "He really cares about you," she said suddenly, meeting Paige's eyes. "A lot. He looks at you like he can't believe you exist."

Paige snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Seriously," she insisted softly. "I thought he was going to stab me, and I didn't even get to tease him about you two doing the thing."

Momentarily distracted, Paige made a face and repeated, "_Doing the_ _thing_?" She snorted and demanded, "What are you, twelve?"

Unruffled by her partner's attitude, Connie downed half her cup of coffee and studied the older woman intently. "Chris called to complain about Dean being an annoying as shit asshole for the past month. They've been stuck on hunts that took longer than usual and they're _both _sick of it. Sounded like Dean was being a lot more irritable than usual."

Now avoiding Connie's look, Paige sighed and picked at the end of her T-shirt. "Okay, so I haven't been sleeping very well," she admitted.

"That much is obvious."

"It's stupid. I slept just fine before he came along, why can't I sleep fine now?" Frustrated, Paige tore a stray thread off and frowned, directing her gaze out the window at the main street where people were starting to appear, ready to enjoy the warming weather.

"Could it be because of the fire? I mean, he carried you out of it and helped you afterwards, not to mention it scared the shit out of him. He's protective, maybe you miss that."

"I'm not an infant, and I can take care of myself," she said defensively.

"I _know_ you can, but that doesn't mean it's not nice to let someone else be the protector for a while." It was Connie's turn to sigh and direct her gaze out the window. "Sometimes I wish I had someone to lean on like that, so I didn't have to be the brave one all the time. It would be really nice to have a break."

Paige was staring at Connie like she'd grown another head, but couldn't deny that she had a point. "When did you get so _wise_?" she said irritably, still plucking at loose threads.

"I've always been wise," Connie sniffed, glaring at her.

Silence fell between them again as they mulled over their thoughts.

"I miss him, Connie," Paige admitted quietly, staring down at her palms. She left it unsaid that they'd never really gotten a chance to talk after all that had happened in Colorado, and she wasn't sure where Dean stood. Hell, she'd even told him she _loved _him, for God's sake.

Connie nodded and reached over to poke her forehead with the straw from her water glass. Paige glared at her, but the glare softened when she quietly said, "I know."

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<br>**May 30, 2001

Dean's face was pale and drawn. There were dark circles under his eyes and a yellow-tinged bruise darkening his jaw. He slammed the door to Chris' truck shut and paused to have a short conversation with him through the open window that ended with him flipping her brother off with a laugh. Chris waved cheerfully as he gunned it, no doubt heading straight for home.

Paige didn't blame him; he hadn't seen his wife or baby in a month. She would see him tomorrow at the family brunch, anyway. For now, her attention was fixed on Dean, her palms suddenly sweating as she watched him get nearer. He looked tanner than he'd been in March, but she couldn't help but notice he also looked a little thinner. For the life of her she didn't know how to greet him. Did she smile? Hug him? Kiss him?

It slightly surprised him how nervous he felt. Jesus, he hadn't seen her in a month and a half and had missed her for all of it. Their conversation had nagged his mind for ages, haunting him, making him wonder why he hadn't said it back. For one he didn't know for sure if this was love; it was stronger than what he'd briefly felt for Cassie so he figured it couldn't be anything else. For now he shoved that all aside and noticed that she wasn't as pale as she'd been in May, much like him. It appeared they'd both been enjoying the nice weather.

Deciding not to bother with any romantic shit — it wasn't really his style anyway — he stopped right in front of her while he searched for something to say. It frustrated him that they were being awkward _now_, which in hindsight seemed silly considering everything that had happened in Colorado. This was a new thing for him, same as her. He decided bluntness was the best approach, considering they were both straightforward people.

"I hate being awkward," he said softly to break the tense silence. Paige smiled faintly and just like that the tension was gone. It slightly amazed him, actually.

"Me too," she admitted with a slight laugh. "I just . . . I don't . . ."

"Know what to do," he finished for her, smiling now. "I don't either, if that makes you feel any better. I, uh . . . I've never really _dated _before."

"Neither have I," Paige said mirthfully, blue eyes alight with humor.

"Come here," he chuckled, pulling her into a tight hug. He rested his chin on the top of her head and rubbed it back and forth a few times.

Paige leaned her head against his chest. "Missed you."

"Missed you too. Pretty sure Chris was about four seconds away from ripping my throat out with his teeth."

She wasn't able to contain her laugh but did her best to muffle it against his shoulder. "I heard," she admitted.

"It's not funny," he insisted even though he was grinning at her reaction, "your brother could do it if he really wanted to. That guy's like a ninja."

"A ninja?" she repeated with a snort, pulling her head back to look at him. One of her eyebrows arched upwards.

"Shut up," he grumbled good-naturedly, stepping back and shouldering his bag. "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted."

Paige nodded agreement and followed him up to the apartment, filling him in on everything they'd been up to and listening to him recount their hellish hunt in Kansas. By the time they got inside they were both chuckling at their respective hunting partners. Dean dropped his bag on the couch, toed off his shoes, and hung his coat on the rack.

"You mind if I take a shower?" he wondered, peeling his shirt away from his stomach.

"You smell," she laughed, shoving him towards the bathroom. "Towels are under the sink."

Dean emerged ten minutes later cleaner than he'd felt since before Kansas. As a general rule he hated Kansas because of the bad memories there but the seven hellish hunts they'd had so far—thankfully far away from Lawrence—had only reinforced his dislike for the state. It was humid and sticky and gross there, too, which didn't help.

He was wearing a plain black T-shirt and plaid pajama pants Paige had gotten for him a few months into their friendship. She'd thrown them at his head and ordered him to stop complaining about being cold at night. They'd kind of been his favorite pants since. The soft fabric felt nice against his sunburnt skin. He'd put on about a pound of Aloe Vera before emerging from the steamy bathroom.

Paige was reading on the couch, curled up against the arm with her book propped on her knees. He stretched out on the remaining space and used her hip as a pillow. She wordlessly shifted around until he was laying in her lap and he sighed in contentment, relaxing for the first time in ages.

"You look as tired as I feel," he said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. There were shadows under her eyes that matched his and she looked paler than usual.

"I haven't been sleeping well," she admitted, dragging her eyes from the book to look down at him. Their eyes met and they smiled at each other before she went back to reading.

"What are you reading now?" he wondered curiously, craning his neck in an effort to read the title. Paige tipped the book downward over his face without removing her eyes from the pages and he read _ A Clash of Kings_.

"Hmm," Dean supplied, yawning and rolling over, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

"So far it's nothing but pain," she said absently. "I can't decide if I like the author or hate him for killing everything I love." Paper rustled as she turned the page and continued reading.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow," he said in a dramatically deep voice, smirking up at her.

Paige stared down at him for a long moment before laughing and gently cuffing his ear. "Of course you would have read these," she snickered, flicking his ear for good measure. She closed the book and put it on the side table, yawning herself as she did so. "I'm beat. Bedtime?"

Dean wordlessly grumbled agreement. He fell face-down on her bed and was mostly asleep when he felt the bed dip. She must have taken a shower because her hair was damp and she smelled like citrus shampoo. He reached out for her and pulled her until her back was snug against his chest, her head tucked under his chin.

"Missed you," he mumbled against her hair, pressing a kiss to the back of her head.

"Missed you too," she yawned, turning in his arms and folding herself into him. He hugged her tightly for a moment before relaxing his arms and allowing his mind to drift back into a comfortable and relaxed sleep, the best sleep he'd had in a month.

/

The next morning Dean woke up alone in bed but that didn't faze him. He felt better than he had in _months_. He swung his feet out of bed and halfheartedly straightened the sheets and comforter, yawning as he did so. By the time he got to the kitchen he was actively trying to _not _freak out over the fact that he didn't seem to sleep well anymore unless he was with her, and that just tangled his emotions and thoughts up into worse knots.

Coffee was percolating. A quick glance at the clock told him it was just after eight in the morning, and Paige was nowhere to be seen.

He heard muffled thumping and then a curse from Connie's bedroom in the apartment. Keeping in mind how violent both women could be, he dared to edge towards the door in question just in time to hear Connie's voice.

"OW DAMN IT WHY ARE YOU SUCH A SADIST," the younger blonde was shouting.

"If you'd just _hold still _I would have been done five minutes ago you block-headed idiot!"

"OUCH," Connie growl-whined.

"Shut it, pipsqueak." A pause, a yelp, and then, "_There_, done, was that really so hard?"

"Bite me," Connie was grumbling as Dean hazarded to push the door open and stared at them. There was blood all over the younger blonde.

"Hi," he said a little awkwardly, studying the wound Paige had clearly just finished stitching in her forearm. "What did you do, lose a fight with a grizzly bear? You look like shit."

"Yes, thank you for your input," Connie snarked, getting to her feet. She looked at Paige, eyebrows furrowed before glaring at Dean. "How do you delete people?" she wondered flatly.

"Murder," Paige deadpanned. "It's called murder, Connie. I've cleaned up enough blood for today. Go get some food, you're grumpy."

Connie shoulder-checked Dean on the way out of her room and he watched her retreating back with raised eyebrows.

"She really hates me, doesn't she?" he mused aloud. It didn't bother him either way it just baffled him a little.

"Nah," Paige dismissed cheerfully, tossing the bloody towels in the trash can and removing the plastic cover from Connie's comforter. "It's how she shows affection."

Dean's eyebrow shot up. "By threatening to disembowel me?"

Paige shrugged and grin as if to say _what can you do_. "She's not exactly normal, don't know if you noticed."

"Oh, I noticed," he promised with a snort. "Is she going to eat all the food, or are we taking pity on her and taking her to Jay's?"

"Haven't decided yet, but do I detect a hint of _fondness_?" Paige teased, poking him in the side.

"No!" The denial came with a smile he couldn't quite hide; he was ticklish there damn it. "Slightly. Like, this much," he insisted, holding his thumb and index finger millimeters apart.

Paige just laughed and hugged him tightly, burying her face in his chest to stifle the sound as he hugged her back and chuckled lowly.

"You two are helpless," she said, voice muffled by the fabric of his T-shirt, and Dean just grinned and hugged her tighter.

/

Two hours later, Connie was fed and mostly human again as they headed down the road to the ranch house for the welcome home celebration. Dean sat silently in the passenger seat of Paige's suburban, quietly marveling about this family and how strange they could be. They were always having parties and hanging out at each other's houses and kidnapping each others children for playdates and it was open and warm and _loving _and everything his childhood hadn't been.

A part of him — the part that still remembered his mother's soft blonde hair, her loving smile, her gentle hands and calming voice, the feel of warm lips on his forehead — envied Paige and Constance the childhood they had gotten.

All the pictures made him smile because as kids they had just puppy piled everywhere, and even now as grown adults, they did the same thing quite often. Movie nights usually morphed into everyone-on-the-ground-in-a-nest-of-blankets-and-p illows nights.

Quite frankly, he loved it.

Loved having all these people around who would defend him just as he would them, who would watch his back and laugh at his jokes and debate the merits of a rifle versus a shotgun.

As they neared the ranch house, he was completely lost in his thoughts. Beside and behind him, Connie and Paige were bickering like normal.

_(Don't make me get the TARDIS, Paige._

_Since when are _you_ the companion?_

_I'm not a companion, I'm a Time Lord; we've been over this, blondie._

_Don't call me blondie, shrimp._

_Don't call me shrimp. I'm taller than you!_

_I'm older!)_

It was the warm feeling that spread through his chest then, the same feeling that had been plaguing him ever since he first found this place; hell, even before _that_. Ever since Brad Newbern had crouched in front of him in a hospital and ruffled his hair. Ever since Mary Newbern had nursed him back to health, his vague memories containing the grandmother cradling him in her arms and rocking him back in forth, singing to him softly in a language he didn't know and making him feel _safe _as he had never felt safe after his mother died.

All of that and more — it was John's heavy hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently and telling him good job on the hunt. Brad's laugh as he slung his arm over Dean's shoulders and shook him slightly, pulling him into his side as he had watched the older man do countless of times to Chris, Noah, Jared, all of them. Debbie making him sit down and force-feeding him homemade pie that made his heart ache because it reminded him of his mom's. It was Paige's warmth at his side as they debated Dumbledore versus Gandalf because they were both apparently closet nerds, and then Connie butting in with her comments and sarcastic wit until the three of them were wrestling around like a bunch of three year olds.

He felt safe here, he realized. Safe in a way he'd never felt before. Safe to be himself, to speak his mind, to not have to fear his father's harsh words or reprimands, his brother's scathing remarks and abandonment.

It scared him more than he was willing to admit, how much of a niche he had found here.

How much this place had changed him.

And it had changed _everything_, shown him options and doors for his life he never even knew he had.

Their voices drew him back suddenly, making him jolt a little.

" — Gandalf is the White Wizard and resident badass and he doesn't even need a wand, Connie," Paige was saying as they sped down the highway for Red Hill Ranch. Connie had moved to the middle at some point and was now unbuckled and leaning forward, elbows on the center console as she bickered with her sister.

"I know, I'm just saying, Dumbledore is a badass too," Connie said, defending the wizard.

"Of course Dumbledore is but, what, Dumbledore can beat Gandalf? Not a chance!"

"Oh please, we both know that Gandalf would bitchslap Dumbledore across Middle Earth," Connie said scathingly.

"Agreed," Dean piped in, grinning over his shoulder at Connie. "Plus he can summon enormous talking eagles. I doubt Dumbledore can do that."

Connie looked between the two of them before laughing a little and saying with a smirk, "He's a keeper, Paige, you've finally found one who can understand your references and general weirdness."

"Oh, shut up," Paige said, elbowing her so she sat back against her seat, and they were all laughing by the time they pulled up the ranch house. The girls jumped out first, but Dean took his time, taking the scene in.

He could hear the music from the backyard and smell the barbeque already on the grills. The dogs raced up to greet them with happy barks and madly waving tails, and he saw Lilly and Gunnar race by with a screeching Garret two steps behind them, saw Amy with JB on her hip talking to John and making animated gestures with one hand. Closing the door firmly he took it all in, smiling slightly as that familiar feeling washed over him, the warmth that spread through his chest and filled him to his core.

_Family. Safety. Home._

Connie flicked his ear hard enough to make him yelp and mockingly asked, "You coming or not, pretty boy?"

Smirking, he charged at her. She yelped and bolted, and he was one step behind her, the two of them cursing each other out the entire time while the family just looked on in amusement.

/

An hour later he has JB on his hip and is chatting with Jared about the crops they're planning on for the next season and the irrigation projects and how long it takes him to feed the bloody cows. It's simple talk, comfortable talk, and JB just sits on his hip and watches everything from his high vantage point.

"It still cracks me up," Jared said after a long moment, watching as JB smacked his hand against Dean's cheek and Dean jokingly tried to eat his fingers, making him wiggle and squeal as he tried to climb Dean like a tree.

"What does?" Dean wondered, managing to grab the boy's feet and hold him upside down for a second, blowing a raspberry on his exposed chubby tummy and making him giggle some more before righting him and bracing the little boy against his chest with a grin.

"The total badass Dean Winchester, cuddling a baby," Jared deadpanned with a mischievous smile.

"So what, I'm like his uncle," he shrugged.

"You're not like his uncle, you _are _his uncle," Jared said dryly.

Dean's cheeks colored slightly. "Never had a nephew before," he said quietly, bouncing the chubby-cheeked little boy a few times.

"Well, you've got one now," Chris said cheerfully as he appeared at Dean's side. "And you're going to have another niece or nephew here pretty soon." He grinned cheekily.

Of course Chris would reveal it that way, Dean thought later. Amy was pregnant again, and now he could only wonder how much less hunting they would be doing. Chris sauntered off cheekily announcing it to everyone as Jared wandered off to get another beer, leaving him alone with the baby.

Paige wandered over a little while later, taking JB from his arms when he offered the little boy. JB was babbling happily and hugged her enthusiastically. She smiled and kissed his cheeks, nuzzling their noses together.

Dean watched them for a moment with a smile on his face, reaching up to ruffle JB's dark hair. Those blue eyes sparkled up at him lovingly and it just made him smile further.

"You ever thought about having kids?" he wondered, blurting it out before he had a chance to censor.

"All the time," she said immediately with a smile. "Why? Have you?" Her eyebrow shot up at the question, a bit surprised he was even willing to talk about it or bring it up.

For a moment he was too stunned to say a word. "I, uh, never really thought about it I guess," he said slowly, even though that was a major lie. He'd wondered a lot as a teenager if it would ever be allowed for him, given his lifestyle. "It was never really in the cards until recently. Um, I mean, I never really thought I could until recently. I mean, not because of you — shit no that didn't come out right — I meant that until recently I didn't think that I could because, well. Hunting."

She just smiled up at him and laughed softly. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot, Dean, I was just curious," she said gently, kissing JB on the forehead.

"I would love to be a dad," he said honestly, _shyly_, ducking his head to look at his boots.

Paige leaned into his side and nuzzled her face into his shoulder for a moment. "I think you'd be a _wonderful_ dad, Dean."

And just like that, he dared.

_He dared to hope._

/

**E/N**: Not as long as usual but long enough, methinks. Dean in his awkwardness is freaking adorable, okay?

**Reviews are loved!**


	35. Stress, Exhaustion, and Snark

**A/N: **So, as it turns out my junior year was a bit insane and loaded with maximum credits and zero free time. I've kind of failed on updating this story, but it's not abandoned. I've been writing when I can, I just haven't had time to piece it all together in a way that makes much sense. Anyway, I'm still alive, so yay!

**Disclaimer**: I only own my OCs.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Five<strong>  
>Stress, Exhaustion, and Snark<p>

**Thunder Creek, WY  
><strong>June 1, 2001

It was that time of year again, which meant that everyone in Thunder Creek was stressed out to the maximum. Another Trial was about to start, and Dean privately entertained the thought that everyone he knew had lost their fucking minds.

These days it was rare to see Noah out on the training mats, instead, he was bent over a huge stack of files and frantically scribbling down a training plan for the incoming hunting recruits. Chris spent sleepless night after sleepless night pouring over the entirety of the Newbern family hunting journals inventing scenarios to test them with while Brad stomped around in a state of perpetual grumpiness and John just looked like he wanted to nuke the planet. Connie stalked around muttering to herself under her breath and Paige always had her nose in her hunting journal. He'd lost count of how many times he'd had to grab her elbow and gently steer her away from the object she was about to collide with.

About four days into the planning process Brad came to Dean and asked him to help train the recruits, which he agreed to do immediately. He, Chris, and Noah would handle the hand-to-hand and knife fighting, while others handled the shooting and other stuff.

There were only thirty-four in this group and Dean observed them curiously. Some were children of hunters already in the Brotherhood, but quite a few of them had that haunted look that meant they had recently been thrust into the supernatural world like his dad had been over twenty years ago. He asked around a bit, trying to find out what their stories were.

"One of them lost his family to a wendigo in Michigan," Connie informed him brusquely over breakfast the next day, a small piece of egg hanging off her chin as she shoveled down her food like she didn't expect to eat again anytime in the near future. Come to think of it, she probably wouldn't have time to eat for the rest of today. "Another lost her family to a violent poltergeist. There's a married pair who lost both their kids to changelings and would have lost the mom too if Cole and I hadn't intervened. We were too late to save the kids, though. Miracle of miracles the dad was on vacation in Germany so the changelings couldn't kill him."

"That's rough," Dean sighed, one again hating how violent this life could be. It forced people to be warriors, because how _else _were people supposed to cope with the fact that monsters and nightmares were real?

"That's hunting, I guess," Connie shrugged, and then she was out the door like her hair was on fire.

Dean didn't realize until about an hour later that it was one of the first conversations they'd ever had that didn't involve her threatening bodily harm. He was still sitting at the kitchen table two hours later when Paige came in looking harassed and exhausted.

"I hate planning for Trials," she said in lieu of greeting, dropping into the chair next to him and slumping against his shoulder.

She smelled like sawdust and leather and gun oil. Not altogether unpleasant, Dean noted.

"Hello to you, too," he joked, kissing the top of her head before turning his attention back to the copy of Brad's journal. He had a notebook open with notes jotted down, and Paige peered down at it before groaning dramatically.

"Oh god, not you too," she whined, shaking her head mournfully.

"Your dad asked me if I had any ideas for the final test," he defended himself with a wry smile.

"It's a trap," she whispered, eyes alight with mischief.

Dean just snorted and bumped his shoulder against hers, going back to scanning the list for possible monsters to use in the scenarios.

Paige sighed and grumbled, "This entire town has lost its goddamn mind."

"It'll be better by tomorrow when the class starts and everyone can stop stressing out so much." Dean pondered that for a moment before adding, "I hope."

"Then our stress will switch from the planning of the trial to the smooth execution of our plans," she pointed out dryly. "My sleep schedule is completely haywire it's making me grumpy."

"Quit being all logical," he teased with an easy grin. "I'm in denial over here. Just let me enjoy my blissful moment of ignorance."

"Except you just admitted that you're in denial so you don't have blissful ignorance," she pointed out.

"Shh," he insisted, poking her on the forehead.

"Oh, alright," Paige sighed, dropping her head to his shoulder again. She leaned against him so they were pressed together from hip to shoulder, his arm winding absently around her waist as he chewed his lip and jotted down a few of the more obscure monsters Brad had come across in his years of hunting to the list of things he knew his dad had faced.

He decided to take a break about ten minutes later. Paige was snuggled against his shoulder, her breath warm on the side of his neck. Rubbing his eyes with his free hand, he flipped the journal closed and gave up for the time being. A soft laugh escaped him when he realized that Paige had fallen asleep.

It took some clever maneuvering, but he managed to get them both from the kitchen table to the couch and settled down for a nap with Paige tucked into his side.

/

"Dean," she complained hours later when he pinned her hips easily to the bed, nuzzling her stomach affectionately. She laughed slightly and squirmed, bucking upwards in an effort to knock him off. "That _tickles_."

Just to be an ass, he rubbed his stubble on the sensitive part of her hip and she screeched in surprise, a high-pitched slightly hysterical laugh falling from her lips as she squirmed in his grasp. He grinned and did it again just because he could and she very nearly bucked him straight off the bed. Laughing lowly, he kissed her hip in apology.

"You ass," she gasped in complaint, twitching when he rubbed his chin against the sensitive spot and drew another pained laugh. She was pushing at his shoulders even though she knew it wouldn't do much; he had her pinned too effectively. "Stop it, that—_that tickles, damn it, Dean_—"

"You are so goddamn ticklish; it will never cease to amuse me," he told her smugly.

"Ass," she rasped as he drew another laugh from her by aiming for her ribs like a heat seeking missile. At least she got a good knee in, her abdominal muscles aching by the time she was done with her full-body laughter. "Get off me, you—_ah_—you jackass, _stop it_."

Grinning lazily, he met her fiery gaze. Her lashes were clumped together from the tears her laughing fits had drawn and she looked like she was going to murder him. Without looking away, he bent his head towards her belly button and she tensed beneath him, fingernails digging into his shoulders as she braced for the tickle attack she thought was coming. At the last second he blew an obnoxiously wet and loud raspberry on her warm skin, laughing before he'd even finished his breath.

He was still laughing when she kneed him off the bed.

When he could breathe again he sat up, poking his head over the top of the comforter, lips pulled back in a wide grin. Paige was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed with her arms crossed and was clearly trying to decide if she wanted to murder him or pounce on him in retaliation. "Are you mad at me?" he wondered, resting his chin on the edge of the mattress and pulling out the most charming grin he was capable of.

His hair was sticking up all over the place and he was still flushed slightly from his laugh attack. There was a teasing, fond, slightly wicked glint in his eye as he studied her and she felt a flush rising in her cheeks. With that easy grin and the lack of bags under his eyes he looked relaxed and happy, so much so that he could only be described as playful.

Paige's lips twitched into a smile against her will and she rolled her eyes, ignoring the sting of stubble burn he'd left on her stomach and hips. She reached down and grabbed his ears, muttering, "Get up here, jerkwad," as she dragged him upwards and crashed their lips together. He followed her down because it was as easy as breathing, fully on board with this new development as he kissed the breath right out of her.

Rough, calloused fingertips brushed over her hips and she twitched slightly.

"Don't you dare," she warned as they breathed the same air.

Dean's smile was gentle. He pressed a tender kiss to the tip of her nose and murmured, "No more tickling, promise. I had something else in mind."

"Not your best line," she informed him slightly breathlessly as he rolled them effortlessly so that she was sprawled on his chest and he was smirking up at her.

Instead of answering, he cradled her head and dragged her down for another kiss. Her hands braced on his shoulders, getting lost in the sensation as his palms slid up her spine.

"We are wearing way too many clothes," he told her cheekily, tugging her shirt over her head and sitting up so he could tug off his, as well. It only took a moment and then he pulled her to him again, rolling on top of her, resting on his elbows to smile down at her.

"Get down here," she told him, grabbing him by his ears again.

"What is it with you and my ears tonight?" he wondered curiously. Before she had a chance to answer, he cradled the side of her face in his palm and kissed her.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<br>**June 2, 2001

"You two are disgusting, for the love of Odin," Connie complained the next morning, covering her eyes as soon as she walked into the kitchen. "Oh my _shit_, put some pants on, Winchester."

"I'm wearing boxers," Dean defended himself dryly. "Also, it's like eighty degrees outside and it's not even eleven yet." He went back to lazily mouthing along the top of Paige's shoulder. The blonde was leaning back against him, hair in a bun on the top of her head and her feet bare, wearing athletic shorts (thank God) as well as what appeared to be his shirt given it was at least two sizes too big for her. She was busy mixing something in a bowl and had a large, obvious, and downright painful looking hickey on the left side of her neck.

It violently disturbed Connie that the man was bare-chested (not that he didn't have nice muscles or anything but _there were some things she didn't need to see like the imprint of teeth marks on his collar bone what_) and dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers with Batman symbols on them.

"I'm aware of the time and the fact that _you have lily white thighs can you please stop macking on my best friend and put some goddamn pants on_."

"I'm comfortable, thanks though."

Paige was grinning but had yet to say anything.

"Back me up, Newbern," Connie whined pathetically. "His thighs are so white they are blinding me."

Dean scowled. "Hey! I'm not _that_ pale!"

"Blinding. Like Casper the ghost."

"Rude."

"Now, now, children," Paige scolded in her mock-teacher voice. "Let's all get along and play nice or nobody gets breakfast. Dean, are you actually going to learn how to make pancakes without setting them on fire or are you just going to chew on my shoulder all morning?"

Connie made a betrayed noise and pouted. "You're letting _him _cook?"

"He wanted to try pancakes," the blonde admitted, shamelessly tilting her head to the side so he could nuzzle her neck.

"We're all going to die. He's going to burn the apartment down. Do we have fire insurance? We should probably have fire insurance. Between me and him we're bound to go up in flames sometime."

Paige glared, not appreciating the unintentional reference to what had happened to Dean's mom. Connie seemed to realize her mistake because she snapped her mouth shut and looked contrite.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Constance," Dean scowled grumpily, accepting the bowl she passed him and ignoring the fire comment. "How do you know when they're done again?"

"The bubbles around the edges," Paige patiently coached. "I'll do one first." She flicked the side of his head. "_Pay attention_, my dad will kill you if you set this place on fire." She lessened the sting of the flick by pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

"You two are going all sickeningly domestic on me make it stop. My eyes. My _eyes_," Connie moaned, dropping into the nearest barstool and folding her arms on the counter. She was quick to drop her head and hide her eyes. "Please don't have sex on the counters. I eat on these counters. And I'd prefer if you didn't repeat last night with me in the vicinity. I never took you for a screamer, Paige. I am scarred for life, I will have you know."

Dean promptly choked on his own spit and Paige blushed scarlet and threw a spatula at Connie who just ducked and cackled like a madwoman.

/

Chris jumped slightly when a heavy book slammed down on his desk. He blinked owlishly up at Constance. She was blurry for about three seconds until his eyes adjusted to the distance of looking up at something after looking down at a journal for the past four hours straight.

"Help," she said desperately.

"Huh?" he eloquently mumbled, knuckling at his eyes with his free hand. The Trials had started that morning and he'd just finished up his plans for the final test. It had been another sleepless night in what felt like a month of sleepless nights.

"Your sister and Winchester are disgusting."

His brain struggled to make sense of that. Squinting up at her, he set his pen down and repeated, "Huh?"

"Oh my god, Newbern, activate your brain," Connie snapped exasperatedly, smacking the side of his head and making him jump. "You look like a sleep deprived owl."

"I'm not an owl but I am sleep deprived," he admitted, punctuating the sentence with a yawn so wide he cracked his jaw. "Ow," he added pathetically, rubbing his cheek and wincing. "What did Paige do?"

"Paige and Dean," she corrected, dropping to the chair on the other side of his desk and propping her bare feet on the edge, crossing them at the ankle. "The both of them, together. For the past week. In what I would imagine is every position possible."

"Position?" he repeated dumbly, trying to focus and draw his mind from the allure of a waiting bed and comfy pillow upstairs.

"You're either way more tired than I thought or you are really dense," Constance told him matter-of-factly. "Sex, Chris. Sex positions. All of them. Everywhere. At all hours of the night."

Chris blinked, struggling to connect the dots in his mind. When it dawned on him, he blanched visibly and squawked, "_I don't want to know_."

"But — "

"LALALALA," he said loudly to drown out her sentence, holding up his hand and shaking his head vigorously. "Constance, he's like my brother and she's my baby sister. I don't fucking want to know. I already want so expunge the horrific image you put in my brain, thanks for that. What they do on their own time is up to them."

"But they're so _loud_," Connie whined, dropping her head dramatically to the back of the chair. "Winchester is nice and all, sarcastic like me and a sassy motherfucker when the mood strikes him, but there are some things you just don't need to hear."

"They're young and in love, what did you expect? Teleport to China and stroll down the Great Wall or something, what do you want me to do about it?" Chris said grumpily, closing his hunting journal and reaching behind him to return it to the shelf.

Connie sighed. "I just wanted to complain to you about it, that's all," she admitted. "I'm also here to talk to Old Fart, though."

"If grandpa hears you calling him Old Fart he'll set you on fire himself," Chris reminded her mildly. "What do you need to talk to him about?"

"Well, you know how I disappeared for a while after mine and Paige's last hunt?"

"I did have to listen to her losing her mind with worry and cussing you out, yes," he said, folding his arms on the desk and dropping his chin to them. "Why?"

"Well . . . I told her I was in Australia, and then France on a little mini vacation after I rescued Princess Cole from that mineshaft."

Chris sighed deeply, forcing himself to keep his eyes open as he guessed, "You weren't in France or Australia, were you?"

"Not unless Montana counts as France now," she admitted with a slight wince. "I didn't want to lie, but I've noticed that Dean has been doing a lot of side research into the Yellow Eyed Demon and John Winchester was in Missoula last week hunting him down."

"Was Yellow Eyes there?" he demanded, tensing immediately.

"No," she said with a wave of her hand, "he was gone, but John was closer this time than any of the others. Yellow Eyes was nervous, I could tell."

"You _talked _to him?"

"Not by choice. He visited me in a dream like he sometimes does when I'm outside the safety of TC."

"And?"

"And, he said that Winchester was a menace. The usual stuff. He made sure I was doing what he was asking, but this time, his request was different."

Chris frowned, blinking rapidly a few times in an effort to get his eyes to function normally. "What did he say?"

Connie shifted uncomfortably. "He said he has a new task for me, that I was 'going to help him build his army'. And then he handed me a vial of blood and told me that if the young Winchester ever breeds, I'm supposed to put three drops of blood in the baby's mouth on its six month birthday. Something about a debt that has yet to be repaid and that he can't wait for the hellhounds to collect on," she said lowly, studying him. She swallowed and admitted, "He mentioned you, Chris. Specifically. By name . . . and by date."

Just like that, he tensed, hands clenching into fists. "Demons lie," he said in a tone of forced calm.

"November 12, 1994," she countered with. If anything, Chris only tensed more. "There was a car crash six years ago, Chris, involving you, your birth mother, and your sisters. A car crash that was a stone's throw from a crossroads. You said that Paige was only thrown from the car, but the blood on her clothes told a different story. Everyone else was so relieved that you all were okay that they didn't notice. But I did."

"Connie — "

Connie cut him off with a quiet, "I won't say anything. I love her, too, you know."

Chris relaxed fractionally but his expression was still tight with stress. For a long moment they just stared at each other, until Connie abruptly stood up and bent down to throw her arms around him in a tight hug. Startled, he didn't react for a long moment until he stood from his chair so he could hug her properly.

"You're my brother," she said into his neck. Noises that sounded suspiciously like sniffles filled his ears.

"Uh," he said less than eloquently, smoothing a hand up and down her spine while he tried not to panic. There was nothing he hated more than women's tears because he never knew what to do. Also his sisters weren't really criers. And it was freaking him out more than a little bit that she was _crying on him_ because he'd only seen her cry, like, three times his entire life.

When Connie pulled back, she looked determined. "I'm not going to let it happen," she swore fervently.

"Connie," he said placatingly, rubbing a hand affectionately across the top of her head and mussing her hair. Scowling, she slapped his hand away and he sighed, tucking it instead into his back pocket. "I made a deal. You can't break it."

Fury snapped in sky blue eyes as the blonde challenged, "_Watch me_."

A small of him, tiny and long-forgotten in the wake of knowing he was going to die in four years, felt the first spark of hope since that cold and icy night in November.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek – Paige &amp; Connie's Apartment<br>**June 4, 2001

"Oh god not this again," Paige yelped, ducking away from Dean and making a run for the bedroom door.

Dean tackled her to the mattress before she'd gone two steps, gently, of course. He landed on top of her and knocked the wind out of them both, taking a deep breath and looking down at her, fully prepared to declare his love — only, the words got stuck in his throat.

There was a light in his eyes she'd never seen before. Quite frankly he looked kind of, well, insane. Determined, too. Not the greatest combination for her peace of mind.

"What's going on?" she wondered, staring up at him. He had his elbows braced on either side of her head he and seemed to be at a loss for words. Uncomfortable under his silent, intense scrutiny, she squirmed slightly, reached up to run her fingers along his jawline. "Dean?" she prompted quietly, catching onto the somber mood.

Shifting his weight just a bit, he cupped her cheek in his palm, smoothed his thumb along her cheekbone, studied the blue of her irises and her long eyelashes. "You're beautiful," he told her seriously, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. When he pulled back, her expression was open and unguarded, surprise evident in the tilt of her eyebrows.

Recovering quickly, she smiled. "You're not half-bad yourself, mister," she told him, reaching up to run her fingers over the bridge of his nose and his adorable freckles.

"I'm serious," he murmured, still thumbing her cheek, the skin soft beneath his touch.

Her eyes softened, lips curling upwards into a loving smile. "So am I," she said, feeling kind of sappy, but it was true. "What's gotten into you? Usually you're mister 'no chick flick moments'. Not that I'm complaining," she was quick to add. "I'm just a little confused."

Dean smiled then, really smiled, his eyes lighting up as his eyes crinkled. "I love you," he said simply.

Paige blinked, surprised at the revelation, until she was smiling back with equal joy, reaching up to cup his face in her hands, his stubble rough beneath her fingers.

"I just wanted you to know," he said quietly, parroting their conversation from months ago as he leaned down and kissed her long and slow. He pulled back to kiss the end of her nose, her cheeks, her forehead. "Do you believe me yet?" he wondered curiously, and the both knew he wasn't talking about the love part.

"I'm starting to," she admitted, folding her arms around his neck to pull him down until their chests pressed together and she could feel his warmth through her T-shirt and they were breathing the same air. Her fingers trailed through the hair at the nape of his neck, making him shiver slightly.

"Good," he proclaimed, and after that, there was no need for conversation.

/

Much later, she was dozing lightly with her cheek pressed over his heart, his arm around her to hold her close as his hand trailed absently up and down her spine.

"Have you ever thought about marriage?" he said into the quiet of their bedroom, staring up at the ceiling fan as it rotated slowly, clicking softly with every rotation.

Paige stirred, snuggled more into his warmth, hand tucked under his ribs. "A few times," she admitted, tilting her head up to look at him. In response, he tilted his head down to meet her gaze, until their noses were nearly touching. "Have you?"

He couldn't resist kissing her, quick and tender. When he pulled back she was smiling.

"A few times," he admitted with a cheeky grin. Sobering after a moment, he added, "Do you want to get married?"

"Yes," she said sleepily, eyes half-open, lulled to sleep by his warmth and how comfortable she was currently. "Do you?"

Dean thought about it for a moment before he responded, "Yes."

She made a noncommittal noise and pressed a kiss over his heart. "I'm sure there's a meaningful quote somewhere about pillow talk and how important it is, but I'm too tired to remember," she yawned.

It was quiet again and she was almost asleep when he said, "Would you ever want to marry _me_?"

Paige took a moment to process that sentence before she lifted her head to look at him, having noted the faint hints of vulnerability and insecurity in his voice. He was like a wild animal trapped in a cage, looking up at her almost defiantly, and she wondered if he'd actually meant to say that aloud or if he was just too tired to censor. Smiling, she cupped his jaw, leaned down to kiss him and felt him relax bit by bit.

"In a heartbeat," she whispered, so quietly that he could barely hear her. "I _love _you, doofus."

His arm tightened around her, fingers digging into her hip as he exhaled, that particular worry put to rest as he whispered, "I love you, too."

He wasn't even offended when she passed out a few moments later. Smiling, he trailed his fingers up her spine and watched the moon rise higher in the sky until he eventually fell asleep himself.

* * *

><p><strong>Thunder Creek, WY<br>**June 6, 2001

"What the fuck has you in such a good mood," Connie snarled over her bowl of cereal. There were dark circles under her eyes and she looked like she was a nanosecond away from committing homicide. This whole Trials business was getting to everyone. It was almost the end of the first week and everyone was drawn and exhausted from the sleepless nights and seemingly endless lecturing and training.

"Nothing," Dean said quickly, rescuing his banana before she could stab it with the knife she was brandishing in her left hand like it was a sword. He'd been thinking back to their conversation the other night and reevaluating his entire life because he was considering asking someone to marry him when most of his life he'd always thought he'd be an eternal bachelor.

"Your face says otherwise."

Dean scowled back at her. "Stop scrutinizing my face."

"Stop using such big words at the ass end of morning."

"I don't think you understand what ass end means," he informed her mildly, scooting backwards to avoid the swipe of her knife.

"Asshole," she growled, returning her attention to her incredibly late dinner. Incredibly early breakfast. Whatever.

"Shithead," he retorted without missing a beat, shoveling his own cereal into his mouth.

"Children," Paige groaned from the other side of the table, where she had faceplanted almost fifteen minutes before after downing her bowl of cheerios like it was her last meal on earth. They'd just assumed she was asleep.

"He started it," Connie informed her primly, shoving the last two bites into her mouth and downing the milk. "Fuck, I'm tired. Goodnight. No loud sex, we have to be up at six."

"Fuck," Paige sighed, checking her watch. The hands informed her it was just past three in the morning.

"C'mon," Dean sighed, dumping their bowls unceremoniously in the sink.

"But the dishes — "

"Can wait," he insisted, herding her towards the hallway with his body. "We need to sleep."

Paige didn't have the energy to argue. In the past four days they had all gotten three, maybe four hours of sleep a day and that was generous. Yesterday they'd only gotten sporadic, random naps that were just enough to take the edge off but still left them exhausted. Her grandpa was pushing them hard, harder than he did usually.

She was aware enough to kick off her clothes and root around in the drawer for an oversized T-shirt and shorts that she tugged on with a huge yawn before faceplanting in her pillow. Dean did the same behind her and she hardly had time to register the blankets settling around them before she was out.

/

The shrill alarm woke them three hours later.

Dean groaned loudly, swatting it with his hand without lifting his head. "I hate everything," he mumbled.

Beside him, Paige managed to drag herself upright, taking a moment for the abrupt change of position and sudden vertigo to fade. She stumbled to the shower and turned on the water as cold as she could stand it, hoping it would help to wake her up.

It didn't.

They didn't have time to shower separately so Dean slipped in with her a few moments later, yelping at the temperature and cussing up a blue streak while he shampooed his hair with military quickness. It was a quick, efficient shower that left their teeth chattering from the cold temperature as they rushed through getting dressed and made a beeline for the kitchen.

Connie was shivering from an equally icy shower and shoved travel mugs of coffee at both of them. Without a word the three of them were out the door and thundering down the stairs of the apartment complex Paige and Connie had lived in for the better part of a year now.

"I fucking hate the Trials," Connie grumbled as Paige fired up the suburban and drove them towards the ranch house, where the trainers and planners were all gathering for a quick meeting to make sure everything was on track. The recruits were already off at training so they had to do it now before they came back.

Thankfully, her grandma and grandpa were waiting with food and more coffee that the three of them accepted gratefully.

"Do you live with her now, boy?" John growled as he pressed a plate of three fresh glazed donuts into his hands. He was wearing a simple black apron that was dotted with flour and he was scowling heavily, his silvery hair combed neatly despite the early hour.

Not for the first time, he wondered if John Newbern was a robot. All the same he accepted the donut because the man may be a hardass but he sure new how to cook.

"When I'm home," he grumbled.

"We'll talk later," the _signore_ growled before shoving him gently out of the way for the next hungry, exhausted Brotherhood member.

"Joy," he muttered under his breath as he made his way to the living room, the source of their unofficial meetings like these, and found a spot on the couch. There were chairs arranged around the room as well but he wanted to sit by Paige. He ended up between her and Connie. It was a little comforting that they were just as bleary-eyed and exhausted as everyone else in the room. Across from them, Chris had his head leaned against the back of the couch and was snoring softly, plate of donuts balanced on his knees and coffee cup curled in his big hand.

Paige was blinking slowly and chewing methodically, wishing she could go back to sleep. She didn't even know what day it was. "What day is it?" she said to the room at large.

"Who the fuck knows," several voices chorused.

"Thursday?" another voice guessed from somewhere behind them. She was too tired to turn and see who had spoken and none of them sounded normal because they were so tired so it was hard to tell. Could have been Jared, maybe Elliot.

"Wednesday," John corrected as he appeared with the dreaded color-coded Trial binder in hand. "Everyone up, this won't take long and then we can all get some goddamn sleep." He kicked Chris' foot to get him up and the man jerked, head flying up with an audible crack.

"Thanks," Chris groaned, but he was awake.

They ran through performances of the candidates, the scores on tests, their aptitude, their potential, their training schedules and regimes. It was a long and tiresome half an hour until the _signore_ released them and told them he didn't need any of them until Friday. He then told them to get the fuck out, which was practically an engraved invitation to have a long affair with their pillows for some much needed sleep.

"Thank god," Dean sighed, feeling like crying in relief. "We get to sleep," he added, drawing out the last word on a groan. They shuffled to the suburban with binders tucked under their arms, yawning every other minute. It was a slow drive back to town just to be safe. As soon as they parked the three of them stumbled from the car and up the stairs into the apartment.

"Wake me up for anything short of nuclear war and I kill you," Connie told them before slamming her bedroom door.

Rolling his eyes, Dean followed Paige to her bedroom and stripped to his boxers and a T-shirt, gratefully slipping back under the covers as she drew the light-block curtains and left the room in inky darkness. "We gonna sleep until we wake up?" he yawned as she slid in beside him and tucked herself against his side.

"That was the plan," she told him, exhaustion making her voice rough. "Week one is over, it should get less stressful as they back off the physical aspect of training."

His only response was to yawn and nuzzle the top of her head, already half-asleep. "Your grandpa wants to talk to me about how much time I spend over here," he told her.

"You might as well move in at this point," she informed him, stretching and wiggling slightly to get more comfortable before she settled and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.

"Was that an invitation?" he mumbled sleepily, wishing he wasn't about a second before passing out because he was pretty sure she'd just asked him to move in with her.

"Damn straight."

"What about Connie?"

"She'll deal," Paige mumbled, scrunching her nose and slinging an arm around his chest. "Talk later, I'm tired."

Dean made an agreeing noise and absently kissed the top of her head before he fell into a deep and dreamless much-needed sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: Mostly fluff. Still organizing stuff, hope to post this more regularly.


	36. Bonding

**A/N**: Here I am! So sorry I kept you guys waiting for so long I am the worst person ever. Also, I still maintain the position that I will still be writing this series when they put me six feet under, I've got so many ideas and stories mapped out. I just have to write them.

**Disclaimer**: I only own my OCs. Anything _Star Wars _related belongs to the creators, I'm just borrowing them for reference!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Six<br>**Bonding

**Thunder Creek, WY  
><strong>June 7, 2001

Dean woke first, stirring in the quiet darkness of Paige's room with a skull heavy from sleep and eyes that felt like they were full of sand. The curtains blocked out all the light so it was impossible to tell what time it was, but his bladder was urgently informing him that he needed to go to the bathroom, pronto. As carefully and quietly as he could, he pulled away from Paige and crept silently into the bathroom.

When he emerged, Paige hadn't stirred from where she was laying on her stomach, face buried in her pillow and breathing deeply.

Yawning wide enough to crack his jaw, he fumbled on the bedside table to hit the light on her alarm clock, which told him it was 9:04 am on Thursday the 7th of June. They'd slept for over an entire day. He groaned slightly and knuckled his eyes, a little irritated that he still felt tired despite catching up on the sleep deprivation. In hindsight, maybe sleeping that long hadn't been the best idea. A moment later his stomach rumbled loudly and reminded him that he hadn't eaten a thing except donuts in over twenty-four hours.

Deciding to ignore his stomach, he settled back under the covers to doze for a bit longer, resting his cheek on her shoulder blade and nuzzling his nose into the fabric of her shirt. He slipped in an out of consciousness for a while, stirring when she shifted and made a confused, sleepy noise.

Groggy, Dean squinted at the clock. It was almost ten. "We should prolly get up," he mumbled into her shirt. "'s ten on Thursday, we slept forever."

"Why," she mumbled, mashing her face further into the pillow. They quietly lay together for a while longer before she sighed heavily and swung her feet out of bed to sit up. He sat up with her, rubbing his hands vigorously over his face, fingers catching on his stubble.

"C'mon," she sighed, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him out of bed. He didn't protest, going along with her willingly while she tugged him into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

/

They emerged thirty minutes later, squeaky clean and with tired muscles relaxed from the hot water. It was a relief to actually get to take their time showering, given the quick and brutally icy military-style showers they'd been taking for the better part of a week now.

Dean yawned again, kissing Paige before heading to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He watched over the counter separating the kitchen from the living room as she curled up against the arm of the sofa with her favorite blanket and a book, immediately burying her nose in it and ignoring the world around her.

He was a pretty good pancake maker at this point and figured it'd be a filling breakfast for all of them, especially if he scrambled up a few eggs while he was at it. Taking care to avoid banging pots and pans around and incurring the wrath of Constance by waking her up, he grabbed a bowl and started mixing the pancake batter while the coffee percolated behind him.

The smell of cooking breakfast must have roused Constance from her sleep, because she appeared in the doorway looking sleep-tousled and confused. Blinking blearily, she stumbled into the living room and took a moment to process what she was seeing.

"Morning," Dean drawled, pouring three pancakes on the grill.

"Coffee?" she growled, glaring around her like she was suspicious of everything. It took him a long moment to realize she was squinting, not glaring, and that she obviously didn't have her contacts or glasses on.

Wordlessly, he pointed to the counter to her left and turned back to the pancakes.

"You poison them?" she grumbled, peering down at the fluffy golden pancakes he was getting ready to put on the plate.

"No," he responded mildly, scooping them off the grill and onto the plate before sticking them in the microwave to keep them warm as he poured three more onto the grill. "Pancakes, not rocket science."

He heard her bang around for a moment with the coffee stuff before she shuffled out into the living room and collapsed gracelessly onto the couch with Paige, apparently deciding to trust him or just not caring enough if he put arsenic in her food.

"Since when does he cook," Connie asked as she sipped her coffee and turned on the TV, mindlessly flipping through the channels even though TV sucked at ten on a Thursday morning. There was nothing on but news shows, talk shows, and soap operas.

"Since I taught him how to make pancakes," Paige responded absently, not even glancing up from her book. Today it was some sci-fi book judging by the cover.

"Hmph."

"Just drink your coffee, grumpy."

Connie didn't argue, giving up on television and switching over to the movie channels instead.

By the time they finished eating the breakfast he'd made, they felt relatively normal and completely unwilling to do a goddamn thing.

"I vote for a _Star Wars _marathon," Paige yawned, glancing out the window. It was raining outside, the dark and ominous clouds in the distance suggesting it would be doing a little more than just drizzling soon enough.

"Seconded," Dean and Constance said in unison.

Dean was stretched out along the length of the couch, his head in Paige's lap while she idly ran her fingers through his hair. Connie was curled up like a cat in the armchair, sipping a cup of hot cocoa she'd made herself a few minutes previously.

It was a lazy, rainy afternoon. Not having to do anything Brotherhood related meant it was the most relaxing few hours they'd had in days, if not weeks. They were too lazy to cook so they ordered pizza from the local place in town. Dean ignored the judgey eyebrows the teenager who delivered the pizza gave him for answering the door in nothing but a black wife beater and his batman boxer shorts while the imperial march blared from the television in the room behind him.

Dean accepted the pizza, tipped him, said, "One day you'll maybe get lucky enough, baby face," and then slammed the door in the kids face.

"Nice going, now everyone knows you live with us," Constance snarked from the armchair without looking away from the TV screen.

"Not like they don't know that anyway," he retorted, chucking a bread roll at her head in retaliation. He smirked when it nailed her on the cheek and ducked under the return volley.

"Fucker," the blonde said to his retreating back, which just made Paige and Dean laugh at her. "Grandpapa is gonna murder you."

"Is not, he loves me," Dean said around a mouthful of pepperoni pizza.

"True," Paige agreed from where she was tucked into his side watching Luke and Darth Vader duke it out with lightsabers.

"Still don't know how that happened. One day he was just _there_ and the next thing I know he's banging by best friend and he's considered one of us," Connie muttered to herself right before stuffing nearly an entire slice of pizza in her mouth.

"Chew and swallow," Dean advised her solemnly. "I'd hate for you to choke."

They both laughed when Connie just flipped him off, mouth to full to retaliate.

_Return of the Jedi _was almost over when someone knocked on the door. Sighing heavily, Paige got up to answer it, not even caring that it was four in the afternoon and she hadn't bothered to change out of what she'd slept in.

Her brother was standing there with the baby in the crook of his arm and his judgmental eyebrows locked and loaded.

"Shut it," Paige told him warningly, before beaming and scooping the baby right out of his arms to cuddle him. "Hey, bubba! God, you get bigger and more adorable every time I see you."

The baby beamed up at her, babbling happily as he stretched small hands out to touch her chin. She playfully chewed on his fingers and headed into the living room, leaving her older brother to follow. Dean looked up as soon as he heard the baby and grinned himself, pausing the movie and ignoring Connie's rather vocal protest.

Paige sat right next to him on the couch so that he could fawn over the baby too.

"Glad to know I'm so appreciated," Chris drawled as he plopped down onto the other armchair and threw a popcorn kernel at Connie's head.

"He's way cuter than you are," his sister told him seriously, bending her head down to rub her nose on her nephew's and in so doing making him giggle loudly.

"Yeah, well, I was hoping you guys could watch him tonight? It's date night and dad bailed on us because Lilly apparently threw up this afternoon and they don't want to risk getting him sick."

Paige looked up at her brother and finally noticed how nicely he was dressed and the fact that he had yet to remove his shoes. She shifted her nephew into Dean's arms and said, "Sure, we can watch him. Do you have his diaper bag?"

Chris handed it over, relief written all over his face. "Thanks, baby girl, you're a lifesaver."

"Don't call me that," she said automatically, reaching out to take the bag.

Her brother just smirked and then jolted like he'd just remembered something. "Shit, that reminds me — grandpa wants to see you too at the ranch house really quick, said he had a couple of questions he needs to ask you," he said, gesturing at Paige and Connie.

"Ugh, that means I have to get dressed," Connie scowled, but she threw off her blanket mountain and stomped to her bedroom regardless as Paige's expression twisted into something sour and she did the same.

Dean just grinned, amused at their annoyance, before returning his attention to the baby currently slobbering all over his shirt.

"Sorry," Chris said apologetically, handing him the burp rag.

"Just a little baby drool," Dean shrugged, mopping at the spot and lifting the baby up so he could blow a raspberry on his stomach. "We've got him, you get along to wherever it is you have to go." He took another look at Chris' clothes. "Dude, where are you going dressed like _that_?"

"Uh, well, it's kind of a weekend thing?" Chris hedged with a shrug and a bashful grin.

"We agreed to a night, not a weekend," Dean pointed out dryly.

"Technically, Paige said, 'sure, we'll watch him'."

"At which point you distracted her with grandpa's summons." Dean couldn't help it, he laughed a little bit and wiggled his fingers in front of the baby's face.

Chris just shrugged and admitted, "Guilty." He stood from the chair and brushed off his slacks. "Grandpa paid for a three-day vacation to Maui."

Dean groaned. "God, life must be grand for you rich people," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'd _love _to just fly off to a goddamn tropical island for three days."

"Dean, you hate flying."

"Whatever, it would still be nice."

"Yeah, well, we're going to enjoy it. I'd love to get some surfing in while we're there, and Amy wants to go hiking and zip lining and all kinds of stuff I'm not sure she's allowed to do considering she's pregnant. She wants to see the Ocean Center while we're there, too. And I'm sure we'll get some snorkeling and scuba diving in, too, along with lazing about the pool and soaking up the sun."

Dean threw a pillow at him, making him laugh and toss it back on the couch.

"You sure you don't mind watching him?"

"Chris, I love this kid," Dean told him matter-of-factly, settling the baby against his shoulder. "Plus he's a total angel, hardly even cries. I don't mind at all. We didn't exactly have plans to leave the house this weekend, anyway, besides maybe going to see a movie or something."

"Have you seen _Hannibal _yet? It should still be out."

"Like we've had time to see movies with all this Brotherhood shit going on," Dean snorted, handing his nephew a toy and smiling when the baby gnawed on it and babbled happily.

"Go see it. Not as good as _Lambs_, but still pretty creepy."

"What's creepy?" Paige asked as she reappeared tying her hair into a bun on the top of her head.

"Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal," Chris told her, kissing her cheek. "Thanks for watching him. You guys better hurry, grandpa looked irritated when I last saw him. Dean, you sure you're okay watching him?"

"I think I can manage an infant for two hours given I've watched him alone for entire days before," Dean told them, waving his hand to shoo them out the door. The seven-month-old on his hip giggled from the movement and threw his toy on the ground as they were walking out the door.

As soon as the door closed after the whirlwind chattering of the three siblings, Dean sighed and looked down at the baby, who the family still wasn't quite sure how to address. Chris and Amy usually called him John or JB, and Brad and Deb had taken to calling him Johnny. The baby just blinked up at him, dark blue eyes curious as he gnawed on his hand and drooled all over himself, his dark hair sticking up in all directions.

"Alone at last, huh, JB? You know what I think? I think JB is just awkward to say and your grandpa is John, so I think I'll call you Johnny, little dude. I like it better than JB. Your mom and dad sure weren't thinking when they named you," he told his nephew while he tenderly smoothed his hair down. The baby cooed, smacking him on the arm with his drooly hand before going back to gnawing on it.

By now he was a pro with the baby's schedule and had no difficulty getting him into the bath, laughing as the baby smacked the water and played with the bubbles and squealed with delight as he pushed the rubber duck and boat around with accompanying noises. He scooped him out of the tub to dry him off, laughing at how his hair stuck up all over the place.

Clothed in pajamas and with a fresh diaper, the baby was sitting up on the temporary changing station they'd set up in the spare room for when Summer visited with Alex. He babbled animatedly before sticking his arms up and adopting his pleading expression.

"I'm a giant pushover," Dean told him but picked him up regardless, pressing kisses to his fat little baby cheeks and inhaling the scent of his baby shampoo. "Your uncle is a sap, Johnny."

The baby just smiled toothily, one finger curled around his as he cradled him in one arm and headed back to the kitchen.

He fed him one more bottle after he got him all dried off and in his pajamas and settled in the rocking chair to soothe him to sleep while he watched the end of the movie. The credits were rolling just as the door opened and Paige and Connie came in, halfway through an argument about something Brotherhood related.

"Aww," they said in unison, beaming at the sight before them. Dean in sweatpants and a T-shirt, the baby in blue pajamas and with damp hair from his bath, sucking his thumb and half asleep tucked up under Dean's chin.

"Shut up," he said without heat. He kept rocking and rubbing the baby's back, knowing he was only moments from passing out.

"Dean Winchester, baby whisperer extraordinaire," Paige teased as they sat on the couch and re-started the movie, put out that he'd watched it without them.

When Jay was well and truly zonked out, Dean rose carefully from the rocking chair with one hand under his butt and the other cupping his head. "I'm gonna put him down," he murmured, heading to the spare room where Paige had already set up the port-a-crib. He made sure to turn on the baby monitor and bring it out into the living room with him so they could hear if he cried.

"Thank god he sleeps better than Banshee," Connie told them, wiggling to get comfortable in her chair and yawning. "Seriously, Alex is louder than Ally and that's _saying _something."

They all laughed, remembering in detail how fucking loud the baby had been on his last visit and the sleep deprivation they had all suffered. It had been a cranky week in the apartment, that was for sure.

When the credits rolled a second time, Dean was asleep with his head leaned back against the couch and the girls were half-asleep themselves.

"Dean," Paige whispered as Connie turned the TV off, leaving the room in darkness. She heard her friend get up, put her dishes in the sink, and then head to her room. Beside her, Dean made a sleepy noise and turned into her, his cheek on her shoulder and breath warm on her neck. She poked him to get his attention and repeated, "Dean."

At the slightly louder tone he stirred, mumbling, "Whu?"

"Come on, big guy, I'm not sleeping on this godforsaken couch," she told him seriously, getting to her feet and holding her hand out. Her eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness that she could see the furniture clearly enough. When his hand closed around hers, she tugged him to his feet and threaded their fingers together.

The bedroom was dark and quiet. She set the baby monitor on the bedside table and yawned, going through her nightly routine with Dean half-awake beside her. They fell into bed and pulled the covers up, the silence in the room comforting to both of them after the crazy week they'd had.

"Who gets him first?" Dean said, humming slightly in contentment as he rubbed his cheek against his pillow and yawned.

"I will," she responded, curling closer to him. Dean was a space heater, she never had to worry about being cold. She took full advantage of this knowledge and wiggled her toes under his thigh, making him inhale sharply in surprise.

"Christ, your feet are like fucking ice cubes," he whined, but he didn't pull away. Reaching out, he grabbed her hands, which were also ice cubes. "The things I do for you," he bemoaned, tucking her freezing fingers against his chest and shivering slightly at how cold they were.

"Connie says my appendages are cold like my soul," she told him with a snort of laughter.

"Connie is full of shit," he volleyed back, tugging her closer so he could wrap her up in his arms. He slept like a clingy octopus, he knew, but she didn't seem to mind overly much. "Your soul isn't nearly as cold as hers. Hers is like the arctic circle."

"Can't argue with that," she laughed, tucking her nose into his collarbone and making him curse and jolt again.

"I swear to god, I'm making you wear mittens everywhere even if it's ninety degrees out," he grumped, all but smushing her face into his shoulder.

His skin was warm and so was she in no time but she didn't bother pulling away. With the fan going and the air conditioning running, it wasn't uncomfortable. The apartment was quiet; her nephew would sleep about halfway through the night before he needed a diaper change unless he slept all the way through the night, which he had done once or twice. Connie was probably already dead to the world given how tired they all still were from severe lack of sleep.

She honestly thought he was asleep and jumped a little in surprise when his voice broke the silence.

"Somewhere along the line, I got used to _domestic_," he told her quietly. "I'm not even freaking out. If I'm freaking out it's because I'm freaking out over _not _freaking out."

Paige hummed, pressing a kiss to his collarbone and hugging her arm around his waist. The other was tucked between their chests. "Is that a bad thing?"

Dean was quiet for a moment, mulling it over before shrugging and saying, "Nah. I just didn't think I'd ever be domestic, considering how I grew up." He paused and she could almost sense his brain working. "Actually, it's kind of nice. I'm getting used to having people care about me again."

"Your dad cares about you."

"I meant people _besides _my dad caring about me. I know dad cares. I mean, he's my _dad_."

Paige smiled and rubbed his back, her smile widening when he practically melted as the tension seeped away.

"Hmm, that's nice," he told her, exhaling long and slow and hugging her close to kiss her forehead. "Still not sure how we got saddled with a baby all weekend."

"While Chris gets to strut about a tropical island," Paige added, rolling her eyes in the darkness.

"They deserve a vacation," Dean told her, nuzzling her forehead this time. He could feel her heartbeat against his side, her cheek flush against his bicep. Eventually his arm would fall asleep but he would enjoy it while it lasted.

"We all deserve a vacation," she laughed, relaxing herself as the stress of the past few weeks finally seeped away.

"Hell, I'll take your grandpa leaving me alone for a week over a tropical getaway any day," he told her seriously. "Your grandpa is a hardass, like, holy _shit_."

"He can get a little intense," she agreed, her eyelids slipping closed as his voice lulled her to sleep.

"Yeah, well, I have a question for you, smarty-pants, and I was waiting until we were alone so I wouldn't put you on the spot," he said conversationally.

_That _woke her up almost instantly, her curiosity peaked. "I'm listening," she encouraged when he didn't say anything.

Dean chewed his lip for a moment before deciding _to hell with it_ and said, "Were you actually asking me to move in the other night, or do we chalk it up to sleep deprivation and pretend the conversation never happened?"

"Oh," Paige blurted, then cursed herself for not talking it out further before passing out. "I meant it. The spare key is on the hook by the door."

He exhaled slowly and nodded. "Okay," he murmured, tilting her chin up. His thumb stroked along her jawline and around the shell of her ear. "I practically live with you anyway and I think I can survive an interrogation by your grandpa."

Paige smiled and turned her head to kiss his palm, making him go completely still in surprise as his heartbeat stuttered and then increased. "What's wrong?" she whispered, worried she'd done something to upset him.

"Nothing, it's just . . . nobody's done that to me before," he admitted, strangely touched by the gesture. He kissed her then, desperately, hoping to convey with actions what he wasn't very good at conveying with words.

"I love you, you know that, right?" she told him seriously when he pulled away, her fingers framing his face.

"I know," he assured her as he grinned in the darkness of the room, rolling them so he was on top of her bracing most of his weight on his elbows. She smiled back and tugged his shirt up, fingers warm against the skin along the waistband of his boxers.

They didn't even care when Connie kicked the wall twenty minutes later and loudly complained that they needed to get a soundproofed room.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, Dean had gotten slightly ahead of himself when he declared he could survive a talk with John Newbern II in regards to the man's granddaughter.<p>

He was currently sitting across from him at the kitchen table and he'd never been more terrified in his _life_.

The males of the Horde had already given him the "you break her heart and I break your face" speech, and he'd even managed to survive having a knife in his balls compliments of Constance and her very thorough threats, but this was different. Hell, even Brad's threat to dismember him and bury him in the backwoods paled in comparison to this.

John was just sitting there.

_Staring at him. _

Thus far, he'd hardly said a word except to demand if he was living with her and what his intentions were, leaving him squirming in the kitchen chair and desperately wishing Mary would appear to alleviate some of the tension. He'd take getting beaten half to death by her ladle over this any day.

John's hands were steepled and he was studying him with the full intensity of a lion regarding its prey. "So," he drawled after nearly five agonizing minutes of silence — not that Dean was counting. "You've moved in with my granddaughter."

"Uh, yes," he responded, mentally kicking himself for stammering. He was a grown-ass man. Stammering was ridiculous.

"I see."

"I mean, I was practically already living there anyway?" he offered, then mentally kicked himself again because _not helping_.

John narrowed his eyes. "How long has this been going on?"

"Uh, since after that clusterfuck of a hunt in Colorado. I think?"

"So you haven't been sleeping with her this entire time."

"I — _what_? No." Dean glared across the table and crossed his arms, awkwardness forgotten in the face of his indignation. "I don't see how that's anyone else's goddamn business except mine and hers."

"I see," John said again, in that strange serene tone he always adopted right before shit hit the fan.

"Quit saying that, bad shit always happens when you say that," Dean muttered, crossing his arms a little tighter as if to protect himself.

"You use protection, I assume?"

Dean rolled his eyes so hard he was momentarily afraid they might fall out of his head. "For fuck's sake, I'm not a teenager, I know what a fucking condom is for, thanks."

"Clearly you've had lots of practice, according to your father."

Despite himself, Dean's cheeks pinked. "I — well, okay, kind of. Only ever one night stands, and there aren't as many as most people would think."

"And now you're just magically a one-woman man?"

Every muscle in his body tensed as he stared across the table in disbelief. "Are you suggesting I might be _cheating on her_? Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"Well, you were a womanizer."

"I had sex with random women in sleazy bars like ten times! I was a teenager, okay? Sometimes hunts went shitty and I needed something to get away from my shitty ass family. But I am _not _cheating on her. I wouldn't do that, ever, and besides, Chris is with me on hunts. Do you think I'm a fucking idiot? And besides we both know she'd fucking skin me alive if the Horde didn't do it first!"

John's gray eyebrow arched upwards. "So you would cheat on her if Chris _wasn't _with you?"

"Would you quit putting words in my mouth?" he growled, slamming his hands down on the table. "I'm fucking _in love _with your granddaughter, okay?"

"No need to lose your temper, Dean," John said mildly. He then added, "Are you sure it's not just lust?"

"Yes, I'm sure! What the actual fuck, John?" Dean shouted, hands clenching into fists. "I love her. _Love her_. It's not fucking lust and fuck you very much for saying so." Furious, he stood so abruptly his chair squealed across the tile, glaring down at the Newbern patriarch who just gazed back at him with calm blue eyes dancing with what he could swear was a mixture of amusement and mischief.

"What do you plan to do about it?" John asked him, folding his own arms across his chest though he made no effort to stand.

"Well, _marry _her, for starters, if she'll fucking let me," Dean snarled. "Have a nice fucking day, you asshole." With that, he stormed from the kitchen and slammed the door behind him hard enough to make the glass rattle in the panes.

John sighed in satisfaction and stood, pushing his chair back in and smiling to himself. "Well?" he called in the direction of the living room, where his ridiculously overprotective grandsons had huddled to eavesdrop on the conversation even though he'd specifically told them not to. Mary appeared in the doorway with the expression that clearly conveyed _was that really necessary_ while also managing to inform him that he really should have known better than to try to keep his grandsons away.

"He passes," Jared called. There was a murmur of agreement and Mary just shook her head in exasperation.

"How I got saddled with so many morons still escapes me," she sighed, aggressively starting to pull food out of the fridge.

John smiled at her and kissed the side of her head, hugging her tightly before letting her go. "What do you think, love?" he murmured while he listened to the boys pull out the board games. He could hear Elliot and Jared arguing over whether or not it was safe to play Monopoly while Cole informed them Monopoly would just make them stab each other.

"I think he's in love with her," she told her husband matter-of-factly. "And that you were a complete and utter asshole to him, John Bradley Newbern."

Grinning, John just shrugged, amused. "Had to test his mettle and he passed as far as I'm concerned. Thought he was going to stab me for a second there when I asked if he was cheating."

He then sauntered out of the kitchen to confiscate Monopoly because blood was a bitch to get out of white carpet and he didn't need to witness his grandsons trying to kill each other.

Mary watched him go and turned her eyes heavenward, internally wondering when this had become her life. Smiling, she shook her head and mused that she wouldn't want life any other way.

* * *

><p><strong>EN**: I love the _signore_, okay? He's based off my grandpa, who is quite awesome if I do say so myself. Also, Monopoly is not a game allowed anywhere near my relatives. Last time my cousins almost killed each other. It was awesome.


End file.
